


It's Called: Freefall

by Kgraces



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Dimension Travel, Gen, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kgraces/pseuds/Kgraces
Summary: In the wake of the Widower's attack, Tim Drake has been left for dead. Badly injured and clinging to consciousness, Tim thinks he's hallucinating when he suddenly finds himself back in Gotham. He soon realizes he's not in his Gotham, but he's somehow slipped into another universe, one in which Jason Todd never died. He's expecting to be cast aside, just as he was in his own universe, but that doesn't happen.Bruce finds a broken bird and takes him under his wing. Tim somehow finds a family, despite his worst fears.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 671
Kudos: 1646
Collections: Fics that I want to read once they are complete, TimDrake works you should read





	1. Red Sands

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Liminal Space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19016809) by [Calamityjim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamityjim/pseuds/Calamityjim). 



> Calamityjim's wonderful work, Liminal Spaces, has been one of my favorites for a while now. I absolutely love the idea of another universe's Batfamily finding Red Robin and collectively deciding to love him to death, so I figured I'd give it my own spin.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading!

_It’s funny,_ Tim thinks, _how life can go from one extreme to another in the blink of an eye._

He was doing so well, too. He finally, _finally_ has his proof that he wasn’t crazy. That Bruce is still alive. But now, collapsed in a crumpled heap, bleeding out from a stab wound in his abdomen, his luck has taken a sharp turn for the worse. His blood mixes with the sand beneath him, coloring it crimson. He’s curled in on himself, lying on his side and struggling to breathe through the pain. The Widower is gone, and Tim has been left for dead. He needs to move, needs to plan out his next steps, but he’s in agony, and anything more than letting himself bleed seems too daunting. But he’s finally got the proof he needs—the proof that will bring Bruce back. He can’t die now, not when he’s so close. He groans and lets his eyes slip shut. 

When, from behind his eyelids, he’s blinded by a white light, Tim has just enough time to think, _oh boy, don’t go into the light_ , before he becomes dimly aware of a change in surroundings. It’s not grains of sand digging into his cheek anymore; it’s concrete. He cracks open an eye and recognizes the skyline stretching out before him. He’s lying on a rooftop in Gotham. The sound of a fluttering cape reaches him, and Tim can barely lift his head, but he manages to look up at the figure crouching down beside him, clad in black. 

It’s Batman. Most of his face is obscured by the cowl, but Tim knows. It’s not Dick. It’s _his_ Batman. It’s Bruce. 

Tim realizes, with a sharp stab of fear, that he’s hallucinating. He’s dying from blood loss somewhere in Iraq, and Bruce is lost in the timestream. This is all just a figment of his imagination, fueled by a dying mind seeking comfort in its last moments. Tim can’t really find it within himself to care that it’s not real. Bruce is right there, next to him. He can cling to his last, fragile moment of peace for as long as he’s allowed. 

“B,” Tim croaks, and oh, talking hurts. “You—you’re here.” He pauses for a moment, having to focus on his breathing. “I think I’m about to die, B, but I’m glad my brain was nice enough to hallucinate you before I do.” His next word stutters into a grunt of pain. “ _Fuck_ this hurts.”

“You should try to conserve your energy,” Bruce says, voice gentle. He moves closer to Tim, who becomes aware of Batman’s gauntlets putting pressure against his wound. He has to grit his teeth against the renewed pain. “You shouldn’t speak.”

“Nah,” Tim says. He grins, lopsided, at his mentor. “My last words need to be better than that. More meaningful.” He hesitates. “I should probably apologize.” 

“Apologize?” He’s not sure if Bruce means to prompt him to keep speaking when he should be saving his strength, but at least talking is helping him stay lucid. 

“I wasn’t good enough,” Tim explains. “I went and got myself killed before I could send my evidence to the Justice League, so they can bring you back.” Bruce hums, and Tim takes it as a sign to continue. “I’d _just_ gotten the proof I needed to prove that you’re not dead, but I wasn’t able to stop the Widower from gutting me like a fish. I just hope that someone can find my research and draw the right conclusions. You don’t deserve to be lost in time forever just because I fucked up. But hey,” his chuckle is both painful and bitter. “If one of us is going to die, at least it’ll be the Robin nobody wants, right?” He feels his grip on his consciousness start to slip, vision growing black at the edges. Tim lets out a soft, breathy sigh. “Sorry, Bruce. I did my best.” 

And he’s _out_. 

He’s honestly surprised to wake up at all. Waking up to see the stalactites of the Batcave, curled up under warm blankets in the medbay, is another shock, but he’s hopeful that he can slip out before anyone realizes he’s awake. He really, _really_ does _not_ want to deal with Dick or the little demon right now. As soon as he sits up, though, he realizes that he’s not alone. Ordinarily, he would’ve noticed before his eyes were even open, but the painkillers in his system are seriously slowing him down, and he curses himself for not taking that into account earlier. He turns his head to look at his companion, breath catching in his throat when he recognizes him. 

Bruce.

Wait, Bruce? 

“You’re back?” Tim asks, voice wrecked from disuse. “How did that happen? And how did I end up back in Gotham?” He frowns, biting his lip, as Bruce stands up from the chair across the medbay and moves to sit at the foot of his bed.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks.

“Sore, but the pain medicine is doing its job.” 

“We had to perform emergency surgery on you,” he explains. “The stab wound ruptured your spleen. It had to be removed.” Tim stares at him with wide eyes. He takes a breath, letting it sit heavily in his lungs before he exhales. Okay, he can deal with this. He manages to regain his composure before Bruce starts talking again. “Where were you before?” Bruce asks. His tone is soft, but cautious. 

“Iraq.” 

“And you don’t recall how you wound up in Gotham,” Bruce says. It’s more of a statement, but Tim nods in response anyways. “Hm. I have a few more questions for you, if you’re up for them.” At Tim’s nod, Bruce offers a reassuring smile. “Just to clarify, do you still believe you’re hallucinating all of this?” 

“No,” Tim says. “I don’t know what happened, though. I must’ve passed out in Iraq, but afterwards? No clue.” Bruce opens his mouth to speak again, but he’s interrupted by the sound of footsteps accompanied by the heavy thunk of crutches and a new voice. 

“B! Is he awake?” The newcomer bounds into the room, and _oh_ , that’s Jason Todd, but...he’s not the man Tim knows. That’s a Jason Todd patchworked together with Lazarus-fueled rage and the raw agony of his own brutal murder, of clawing his way out of his grave. A man tempered by years of League training and dreams of revenge and a bloody crusade. _This_ Jason is different. The white streak in his hair is still present, but he’s smaller, younger. He’s sporting a few casts, which explains the crutches he’s leaning on. His smile catches Tim off guard, because he _recognizes_ that smile. It’s _Robin_. 

“Oh,” Tim says, dumbfounded and suddenly coming to a painful conclusion. “I think I’m in the wrong universe.” 

“That does make sense,” Bruce admits. 

“Wait,” Tim says, holding up a hand. “How am I not stuck in an interrogation room right now? I let it slip that I know your identity, didn’t I?” He crosses his arms with a frown. “I mean, I was a bit punch drunk, but _still_.” 

“I ran your fingerprints,” Bruce says. “They matched with Timothy Drake. Thirteen-years-old, currently in Egypt with his parents. I figured that the multiverse was at play, here. You said you’re Robin, and you know my identity. I decided to take care of the hurt kid before determining how much of a threat he might be. Clearly your Batman trusts you.” 

“Was and did,” Tim corrects him quietly. 

“Hm?” 

“I _was_ Robin, and Batman…” Tim’s fingers curl into the blanket in his lap. His argument with Dick still hurts—hurts like his parents (always _leaving_ ), like _Bart_ , like _Kon_ , like caring too much and only receiving cool indifference in return. It’s a wound that’s been left to fester for too long. He hasn’t let himself think about it, because he knows that if he did, he’d get lost in the pain of betrayal and the loss of the only family he’d had left—his big brother, or so he’d thought. “Dick doesn’t trust me anymore.” 

“Woah, _Dick_ is _Batman_ ?” Jason nearly shouts, and Tim cringes at the volume. He’d almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone with Bruce, which is a mistake he knows would usually end in grief and pain with his universe’s Jason, but _this_ Jason just doesn’t register as a threat to him the way the Red Hood does. Tim nods in response, throat feeling tight. 

“It sounds like we have a lot to talk about,” Bruce says. His tone is still gentle, and it reminds Tim of the tone he’d take with a wounded animal. The comparison seems a little too apt, even for Tim’s addled mind. “Run me through some of the basics of your universe, then what happened to bring you to Iraq.” Tim nods, sighing.

“Your fingerprint analysis was right. My name is Tim Drake, but I’m seventeen, not thirteen. My current alias is Red Robin. I was the third Robin, until everyone thought you died, and Dick took up the mantle of Batman.”

“Dick decided to go without a partner?” Bruce asks.

“Ah, no,” Tim says. “He gave Robin to someone else, to the kid who’s done nothing but try to _kill_ me.” The laugh that escapes him is a bitter, broken sound. “Didn’t even bother with telling me, and wouldn’t even _look_ at me when the kid came to the Cave, wearing my suit, telling me that I’m not welcome anymore.” His grip on the blanket tightens. It feels like he’s tearing his chest apart, cracking his ribcage open and shredding his heart into ribbons. “Dick took everything I had left in one fell swoop. He took Robin, and he didn’t disagree with Damian when he said I don’t belong. I don’t know if that means he doesn’t want me as his brother anymore, or if he never even thought of me as family in the first place.”

“You said he doesn’t trust you,” Jason says, frowning. “Is that why he picked a new Robin?” 

“No,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “We got into an argument, after. I realized that Bruce isn’t dead, but he refused to believe me. He told me to get psychiatric help. And I get it, really. It sounds crazy, and he’s not the only one who thinks I’ve snapped from grief, but he should at least have heard me out. He should’ve known I wouldn’t go chasing a ghost without any solid reasoning.”

“You had to have had at least _some_ backup,” Jason says slowly. “What about me? Or another one of your other friends?” Tim grimaces, but he appreciates that Jason seems to expect that they’re friends, back in his universe. 

“You—the Jason from my world kind of hates me, and my two best friends are dead.” Tim’s voice is flat, expression bland. Jason’s jaw drops, and even Bruce frowns a little in concern. 

“ _What?_ ” 

“It’s a long story, Jason, and it’s not a pleasant one. He’s hated me since before he even _met_ me. He thought I was his replacement, but he never realized that I never wanted to take his place. I could never replace him. I wasn’t even _chosen_ , wasn’t wanted like any of the other Robins.”

“The Robin nobody wants,” Bruce murmurs, repeating Tim’s words from earlier. His expression is disapproving, if Tim’s reading him correctly. This Bruce seems so much more _open_ than his Bruce, less hardened. It’s jarring. “How did you become Robin, if you weren’t picked for the job?” 

“I practically forced your hand,” Tim admits. “You were out of control, and if someone didn’t step in to keep you grounded, you would’ve either gotten yourself killed or killed someone else. I figured out your identity when I was nine, so I confronted you once I realized you were close to crossing the line. It...didn’t go well at first, but eventually you agreed to let me become Robin. I just wanted to help,” he says, voice growing soft. A heavy silence settles in the room. 

“I didn’t make it out of Ethiopia, did I?” Jason asks quietly. His face twists with discomfort, and Tim has to fight the urge to reach out to him. He mutely shakes his head, and the rising tide of hurt threatens to overwhelm him. Even though Jason came back, the loss of the person he was—and the potential he had—still stings. Tim had never had an opportunity to meet Jason before his death, but he’d still idolized him as a kid. Realizing that his hero was _alive_ was a dream come true, even after the Red Hood broke into Titan’s Tower and left him beaten and bloody. 

“You said that Jason hates you, present tense,” Bruce points out. Tim nods, words still stuck in his throat.

“He came back,” Tim says in a near-whisper. “The League of Assassins found him before we did, and Talia al Ghul put him in a Lazarus Pit. She manipulated him and turned him against the Bats.” Bruce and Jason both cringe at the words, and Tim tangles his fingers together, anxiously. “For what it’s worth,” he offers, “I’m really glad you survived. What happened was awful, and it’s nice to know that you won’t have to go through at least some of it.”

Jason looks at him like he’s a puzzle to be pieced together. Tim’s not quite sure what he’s going to find; he’s just so _different_ from the Jason he knows. The smile on his face seems genuine enough, though, and Tim finds himself smiling back, hesitantly. 

“So,” Jason says, tilting his head to the side while he studies Tim. “What did other-me do that has you so spooked?” Tim opens his mouth to protest, but the words die on his tongue.

“He’s not you, Jason,” Tim starts, tone firm. He doesn’t speak again until Jason nods in agreement. Tim scrubs a hand across his face, not wanting to get into the gory details but knowing Bruce will probably insist. “He’s done a lot of terrible things. Granted, his mind has been clouded by the influence of the Lazarus Pit, but still. He’s tried to kill me three times now—one of which actually happens to be the last time I saw him, so I think me being ‘spooked’ is justifiable.”

“ _Holy_ _shit_. What the _fuck_ ,” Jason breathes. He sounds like he’s been sucker-punched. “That’s—I...What did he _do?_ ” 

“Um, to me or in general?” Tim asks. He casts a wary look to Bruce and sees the stricken expression on his face. “Wait, no, I don’t want to upset either of you any more than I already have.” Bruce shakes his head and puts a hand on Tim’s bony shoulder. He frowns a little at the too-thin frame of the boy, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with telling us,” he says, instead. “I understand that you’ve been isolated in your world, but we’d like to help you however we can.”

“Besides,” Jason adds, his smile strained but still present. “I wanna know what to avoid saying or doing, so I don’t accidentally freak you out.” 

“Thank you, but you don’t have to do anything for me. I don’t want to be a bother,” Tim says. He’s met with vehement protest from both Bruce and Jason, and he finds that he can’t quite look them in the eyes, overwhelmed by the fierce response. He takes a moment to compose his next few sentences, fingers brushing idly against the scar on the side of his neck. “He slit my throat.”

Jason looks _horrified_ , and Bruce’s usually stoic expression slips into one that’s an equal mix of utter heartbreak and wrath. His grip on Tim’s shoulder tightens for a moment, enough to make Tim wince. It immediately slackens again, and Bruce’s eyes soften into something almost apologetic. Tim’s having trouble reading this Bruce; he shows more emotion than what Tim’s used to seeing from him. He’s used to much subtler glimpses of the man behind the cowl. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tim says. Jason hobbles over to him, balancing on his crutches for a moment before he drops down to sit on the bed beside him. He hesitates for a minute, like he’s not sure how to approach Tim. “It’s okay,” he says, when Jason’s indecision seems to waver toward moving away again. “I’ve forgiven him.” That seems to break him from his thoughts, and after another moment, Jason wraps his unbroken arm around Tim. 

“You’re too nice,” Jason says, frowning. “I sure don’t forgive him.” 

“You said three times,” Bruce interrupts, before Jason can go on a tirade.

“He broke into Titan’s Tower, knocked out my whole team, and nearly beat me to death. There was enough blood for him to write ‘Jason Todd was here’ on the wall.” He pointedly refuses to look at either Bruce or Jason, not wanting to see their reactions. Instead, he continues speaking. “The third time was right after Bruce’s alleged death. We got into a fight, and he stabbed me in the chest with a Batarang.” 

“I’ve decided that if I ever meet this guy, I’m gonna kick his ass,” Jason says, and he rubs Tim’s arm awkwardly, splinted fingers impeding his movements. “That’s so fucked up, Tim. You didn’t deserve any of that bullshit.” Tim shrugs, careful not to dislodge either Bruce’s or Jason’s hold on him.

“I’ve forgiven him,” he says, like that’s all there is to say on the matter. Bruce’s lips thin, and Jason’s looking at him like he’s a kicked puppy. “Besides, none of that is going to happen here. You’re still alive, and little Tim’s parents actually take him with them on their archeological digs, so he’ll have no reason to take up the Robin mantle. Plus you won’t be affected by Lazarus Pit induced rage, so you’re not going to hate him for stealing what belonged to you.” 

“There are _so_ many things wrong with what you just said,” Jason grouses. “I’m not—B, you’ve gotta _fix him!_ ” 

Bruce frowns and says, “You were neglected as a child.” Tim cringes but nods. Of course Bruce picked up on that. 

“It’s...well, it’s not fine, but it made it easier I guess? For Robin, I mean. No one was around to notice when I snuck out at night, and staying alone in that empty house was a lot better when I had something to look forward to.” 

“You didn’t stay with us?” Bruce asks, sounding bewildered. His frown deepens, and Tim finds himself wanting to flinch back at the disapproval there and also wanting to soak in as much of Bruce, alive and right there, as he can. He shakes his head. 

“Dick and Jason were your sons. I was just Robin,” Tim explains. “You adopted me after both my parents died, but I think it was probably mostly convenience, at that point. I thought I was finally family, but nothing makes sense anymore.”

Bruce and Jason exchange a meaningful glance—the kind only Batman and his Robin can share. It makes Tim’s heart lurch in his chest. Finally, Bruce turns his attention back to Tim, and Tim can’t help the wonder from creeping onto his face. God, he’d missed Bruce.

“You’re going to need time to recover,” Bruce says. “And we need time to figure out just how you got here. In the meantime, would you like to stay with us?”

Tim can barely stop himself from bursting into relieved tears, but he manages to nod with dry eyes. It's a small victory, but it's a victory nonetheless. 


	2. Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason learns more about Tim's troubled history, as well as his own role in it.

Rock bottom doesn’t really seem accurate. Tim seems so broken, so worn-down and empty. It breaks Jason’s heart a little every time he looks at his new friend, only to see empty blue eyes staring back at him. Jason wonders what else has happened to Tim—just two years older than him and far more world-weary—to make him like this.

Jason felt a little of that, after the Joker nearly killed him a few months ago. He’d been so angry at first, but then all he’d felt was a dark void. He’d nearly died, and in Tim’s universe, he actually  _ had. _ It’s sobering in a way nothing else is, the realization of how fragile mortality truly is—a thin thread holding up Jason’s existence, destined to fray apart and snap, eventually. 

Tim seems like his thread has snapped already. He’s quiet—not in a shy way, but it’s more like a ghost’s quiet. Jason thinks he’s probably just caught somewhere between brooding and plotting. The guy is a wicked strategist, and Jason thinks he hasn’t even seen the extent of this guy’s smarts. He might even be smarter than Bruce. 

Jason sits on the edge of Tim’s bed down in the medbay of the Cave. They’d started out playing a few card games, but Jason’s still healing fingers makes it clumsy and difficult to handle the cards, so Tim suggests chatting, instead. They begin to compare the differences between their worlds, and boy, it was a lot.

The most glaring difference—aside from the four year time difference, of course—is that Jason survived the Joker. He made it out of that warehouse, while his counterpart had died there. The thought makes Jason queasy, and hearing about the way his alternate self came back to life, crawled out of his grave, and got tossed into a Lazarus Pit nearly makes him start crying. It sounds so awful, and just from what Tim tells him, his other self hates Tim with a sort of vindictive glee. He can’t even imagine that. Tim is so sad, but he’s so  _ nice. _ His other self must be some sort of idiot.

In their universe, Tim Drake is with his parents. Tim had made Bruce check and double-check that Tim was  _ actually  _ out of the country, not just left alone in the house next door, and the distrust he’d shown in his parents sent a chill down Jason’s spine. Thankfully, the kid actually is with his family. They’d been photographed together a week ago in Cairo after Jack and Janet Drake had unearthed some ancient pottery. Little Tim’s bright smile is so different from the tired, bitter smiles their Tim sometimes lets slip through his mask.

Bruce had mentioned childhood neglect, which Tim accepts with a casual sort of sadness. Jason doesn’t let the matter drop, though. Once they start talking about little Timmy’s parents in this world, Jason asks about Tim’s own family. The question seems to make him freeze up, pale eyes freezing over with a calculated blankness. It’s spooky, how he can shut down like that so quickly. 

“My parents traveled a lot while they were alive. They needed a son to carry on their legacy, but that’s all I was to them,” he says, a little too calmly to be believable. “Then after they died, B adopted me. He disappeared, and I got kicked out. I don’t have a family.” His expression twists into something wistful. “I don’t think I  _ ever  _ did. Maybe it was only ever wishful thinking.”

“Well, you’ve got us now,” Jason says. He doesn’t even think about his words before they slip from between his teeth, but he freezes up as soon as his mind catches up to his mouth. “I mean—if you want us.” Tim looks at him in surprise, and Jason recognizes the struggle on his face. He’s trying desperately not to let himself hope. Jason chews on his lip, an old habit Bruce has been trying to get him to break for years now. “Do you want to talk about it? I know it’s basically a requirement to be as emotionally repressed as possible to be a Bat, but I want to help, if I can.” 

There’s a pause.

“Did you and Dick get along when you were first adopted?” Tim asks. He looks at Jason with this spooky stillness about him. He tilts his head to the side, like a bird, and fixes those pale, pale eyes on Jason’s face. He stares for a moment, caught between one heartbeat and the next, scrutinizing, and Jason gets the feeling that Tim can see past the skin, muscle, and bone—right down to the very soul of him. It’s unnerving, at best.

“No, he pretty much hated me until I almost died. Then he changed his tune pretty quickly,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “He’s cool now, though. I guess.”

“He never got the chance, in my world,” Tim says, tone apologetic. “He used his regret to treat me the way he wished he’d treated you. He was a great brother to me.” He looks down, twisting his fingers in the blanket. His shoulders slump. “He really hurt me, Jay. I don’t know how to move past it.”

“You don’t have to forgive him,” Jason replies. “You don’t owe him forgiveness, if it isn’t something you’re willing or able to give.”

“I should,” Tim argues, looking back up at him. “For the longest time, he was the only person who actually cared about me. I just—I don’t understand what happened. He chose Damian over me, and he knew I wouldn’t be able to stay there with the brat out for my blood. He knew I’d have to leave, and he gave away the uniform I fought so hard for—like it was nothing...like  _ I  _ was nothing.” He shakes his head, expression slipping into something frustrated. “He threatened to throw me in Arkham. It’s not like heroes haven’t come back from the dead before.” He scoffs. “I don’t think it’s  _ that  _ unbelievable that Bruce could still be alive.”

“He should’ve listened to you,” Jason agrees easily. “It’s obvious you’re smart as hell, Tim.” 

“I’m a detective. I find the evidence and put it together,” Tim says with a shrug. He frowns and leans back against his pillow. “That reminds me...Can you hand me my harness?” Jason goes to fetch it, confused but willing to help, and Tim opens one of the pockets to retrieve a black thumb drive. “Do you have a laptop handy?” Tim asks. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting? Not working?” Jason says with a raised brow. “What do you need a computer for, anyways?”

“I've been working nonstop for months. I don’t really know if I know how to rest, anymore. Besides, I’m gathering and organizing my evidence,” Tim explains, holding up the thumb drive. “I need to upload the cowl footage from Iraq, so I can put a timeline together.” Jason looks skeptical, so Tim decides to resort to casual bribery. “Help me, and I’ll show you my blackmail folder.” 

Jason’s eyes light up with unmitigated glee, and he hobbles out of the medbay to find a spare laptop for Tim to use. Tim gets to work and quickly updates his files, drawing up a detailed timeline to help track down Bruce. He’s already got the bare bones of it all, but the cave drawing in Iraq provides an excellent starting point. Jason sits next to him and watches over his shoulder as he types.

“What are those files?” He eventually asks, pointing to another folder on the screen. Tim glances up and offers Jason a tired smile.

“Comprehensive profile. I’ve got one for each Bat, as well as one for my team and for the Justice League.” He opens the folder to show Jason. “It’s basically a full sequence of major cases and catastrophes. I figured a record would be a good idea, and now that I’m technically a few years in the past, maybe we can avoid some of them—or at least mitigate the damage.” He hums a little to himself and types a command sequence. Within moments, he’s remotely hacked into the Batcomputer, and Jason’s jaw drops.

“How did you…?”

“Future, remember? I know the password algorithm, so I just worked backwards.” Tim shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Jason shakes his head as Tim uploads Bruce’s file to the computer. He goes through a few other thumb drives as well—all color-coded: blue, red, green, yellow, white, and gold. “Okay, that’s all the major ones, for now,” Tim finally says. He looks at Jason with a smile, but his eyes are still so empty. “Okay, who do you want to embarrass first?”

“Dickhead, obviously,” Jason replies. Tim’s expression twists into something caught between nostalgic and deeply pained, but he nods and retrieves yet another thumb drive. This one is designed to look like a little envelope, and when he plugs it in, Jason sees dozens of folders. Tim has dirt on everyone, apparently. He clicks on Nightwing’s folder, and Jason leans closer to the screen as Tim starts to scroll through the photos of Dick at his least graceful. Tim’s personal favorite is the photo of Nightwing slipping off the edge of a rooftop. Dick had been fine, but the look on his face was a thing of beauty.

“Oh man,” Jason says, laughing and wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “These are incredible. You know what would be a great idea? Replace—” Tim tries to stop the violent flinch, but he can’t. Jason stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide. “What’s wrong?” 

“The other Jason—Hood,” Tim says, voice cracking. “Hood calls me Replacement. Sorry, I just—shit.” He rakes a hand through his too-long hair. “Nothing good ever comes from hearing that nickname, Jay.”

“Shit,” Jason says, subdued. “Sorry, Tim.”

“Not your fault,” Tim mumbles, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed with himself. “Just instinct.” He curls in on himself, drawing his knees close to his chest. “You’re not him, and I know that.”

“It’s not fair,” Jason grouses. He shifts around so he’s facing Tim instead of sitting next to him. “He sounds like an asshole. Why does he hate you so much?” 

“I replaced him.”

“Yeah, so? I replaced Dick. Besides,” Jason hesitates, choking on the words a little. “I was dead, right?” Tim nods and bites his lip, looking guilty. Jason wants to understand what’s going on inside his head. “There’s no way you could’ve known I’d come back. Sounds like I came back wrong, anyways.” 

“No,” Tim says, bolting upright. The look in his eyes is intense, and it hurts a little to see the confusing mix of defensive fury and fear lingering there. “He’s been hurt and manipulated, and that isn’t his fault. He’s made mistakes, but I think he still wants to do good, in his own way.” 

“Why are you  _ defending  _ him?” Jason asks, partially offended on Tim’s behalf but mostly just completely baffled. 

“He was my hero, growing up.” Tim grins at him, and Jason tries to ignore how wobbly the smile is. “It’s weird being older than Jason Todd.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason says, sticking his tongue out at him. “So I’ll have two annoying older brothers, instead of just one. Good for me.” He sees Tim’s eyes widen and immediately backtracks. “Shit, too soon?” 

“No, it’s just nice to hear that you think we could be brothers.”

**

After Tim drops off to sleep, thanks to some very excellent pain meds, Jason snags the laptop and the thumb drives and wanders back upstairs, lost in thought. He makes his way to his favorite corner of the library and curls up in an armchair. He stares up at the ornate trim lining the walls, wondering just how much his other self has contributed to Tim’s brokenness. It aches, knowing some version of himself is capable of causing that kind of hurt. He glances over at the laptop, not wanting to know but needing to.

He tries the red drive first, the one he’d noticed had files listed for the Red Hood. Tim called other-Jason “Hood,” so he figured that would be a good place to start. Thankfully, he’s right, and rather than needing to search through any number of the other thumb drives, he finds himself looking at a wealth of information on his alternate self. 

What he finds is...not reassuring.

From what Jason can tell, things seem pretty much exactly the same, right up until Ethiopia. In his world, Bruce got to him in time, but his other self had died in that warehouse. Jason shudders at the sight of a file labeled as his autopsy report. He carefully avoids falling into that rabbit hole. He does, however, click on a link labeled  _ Garzonas. _ He sees surveillance video of his confrontation with the guy, and much like in his own world, Garzonas falls. There’s an annotation typed out below the video:  _ Robin was innocent. I think B was simultaneously relieved and furious at himself when he found this footage. He sent me away for training a week later. _

Jason frowns at the idea of Bruce sending Tim away, especially after what he’s heard about how Tim’s parents neglected him. He decides to find Tim’s file later, once he’s done going through Hood’s. He finds sparse documentation from the time between his resurrection and return to Gotham, but the Red Hood’s bloody debut is detailed in full. Jason combs through it all with a sense of horror: severed heads in a duffel bag, video from his attack on Titan’s Tower—on Tim, leaving him in a bloody heap. He sees footage of his confrontation with Batman, sees Hood holding a gun to the Joker’s head and demanding a choice. And, oh God, Batman—Bruce—chooses to throw a Batarang at Hood’s throat. 

He closes the files with bile creeping up his throat, wondering how things got so bad for his other self, how broken his mind must be. He tunes those thoughts out, focusing instead on investigating his new friend’s seemingly troubled history. Jason finds Tim’s drive on his third try and pushes away thoughts of the Red Hood carrying on his namesake’s legacy by breaking bird bones. It’s probably an invasion of Tim’s privacy to be looking through the details of his vigilante career, but Jason is Robin. It’s kind of his job to be nosy. 

Reading up on how Tim found out Batman and Robin’s identities and how he himself came into their lives makes Jason want to hop universes and punch the Drakes. He knew they were neglectful, but to leave their kid alone for so long? It makes him sick and furious. He reads over Tim’s tenure as Robin, and he jots down a few notes. There’s so much he thinks Bruce should know about, so much he wants to address with Tim. 

Jason watches the footage of Tim’s last interaction with Dick in the Cave, and he has to grit his teeth to stop himself from swearing up a storm. He’s not sure if he’s so furiously protective over Tim because he seems so much more  _ hollow  _ than a kid like him should be, or if he’s just angry because Dick was supposed to be better. Isn’t that what Tim said? Dick had been a brother to Tim, and seeing Robin get torn away from someone who deserves it breaks Jason’s heart. Dick left Robin behind. Jason died in Tim’s world, but Tim had  _ no  _ say in what happened to him. He had the ground burned out from underneath him and was expected to find his own way. 

No wonder he seems so lost.

Jason closes the laptop and moves to the kitchen. Alfred looks up from the stove, where a stew is bubbling merrily in its pot. It smells amazing, and Jason immediately feels a little more relaxed. He offers Alfred a smile, but the astute butler seems to sense something is amiss. He turns and gives Jason more of his attention, a gentle look settling on his face. He reaches for the kettle and begins preparing them tea. 

Jason isn’t up for talking, so he sulks in sullen silence, staring into the steaming mug Alfred sets in front of him. Alfred turns back to the stew, leaving Jason to his thoughts. The sun starts to set outside, bathing the kitchen in a warm amber glow. An open window lets in fresh air and the sound of birds chirping. Jason idly wonders if any Robins are singing. A breeze filters through the gauzy curtains, and Jason lets out a sigh as it dies down. 

“Would you kindly set the table, Master Jason? Three places,” Alfred says, after a moment. Jason raises a brow at him, curious.

“Three?”

“It’s Friday evening,” Alfred reminds him gently. Jason nearly smacks his forehead. Of course, Dick’s coming home for the weekend. 

“Does he know about Tim?” 

“I believe Master Bruce has informed him of a situation but no further details.” Jason groans and rests his head on the counter. 

“Can I eat dinner in the Cave?” He asks, pouting at Alfred. “C’mon Alfie, I don’t want Tim to get caught off guard by someone he really,  _ really  _ doesn’t wanna see right now.” Alfred shakes his head, smiling fondly at Jason’s sour expression.

“I’ll inform our guest of Master Dick’s visit. I doubt I’ll be able to stop him from investigating, though. I’m certain he’ll want to meet Master Tim.” 

“Even better,” Jason says. “I can watch Dick get punched when he ambushes Tim.” He glances up at Alfred’s skeptical look. “Seriously. I know he’s on bedrest, but he could totally still land a hit.” Alfred shakes his head and turns back toward the stove, so Jason stumbles to his feet and awkwardly gathers the plates.

Bruce arrives home from work just as Jason finishes placing the silverware around the table. He ruffles his son’s hair and offers him a warm smile. He goes upstairs to change, and not five minutes later, the front door opens again. Jason nearly groans into his hands. Dick is going to be curious and obnoxious; he just  _ knows  _ it. 

“Little Wing!” Dick greets him cheerfully. He wraps an arm around Jason’s shoulders, smiling brightly. “How’s my favorite little brother?”

Jason’s about to snap:  _ I’m your only little brother, idiot, _ when he realizes he might not be true anymore. Bruce has probably already emotionally adopted Tim, anyways. He just sighs and rolls his eyes at Dick’s exuberance. He feels exhausted just by looking at his brother. Since Ethiopia, Dick has been coming around more, and he’s glad, really, but he’s also not ready for Dick’s heart to break over what his alternate self has done. 

“Hey Dick,” Jason greets. “How was your week?” They settle into chit-chat for a little while, but once Bruce comes back downstairs and ushers them to sit down at the table, Dick’s eyes take on a shrewd, calculating look.

“So, what’re you hiding, B? Does it have anything to do with the weird energy readings we’ve been tracking all over the country? You can’t just tell me there was an ‘incident’ and leave it at that.” Dick huffs and folds his arms. Before Bruce can respond, Alfred enters the dining room, a worried expression creasing his brow. 

“There is an emergency downstairs, Master Bruce. I fear I’ll need a spare set of hands.” Bruce stands, followed immediately by Dick.

  
“Nope,” Jason says, grabbing his brother’s arm. “I’ll explain what’s going on, but you shouldn’t go down there right now. Trust me, okay?” Dick hesitates but nods, watching as Bruce and Alfred rush off toward the Cave. Jason’s shoulders slump a little in relief, but the look on Dick’s face still makes him uneasy. He doesn’t want to be the one to break the news to him, but if it stops him from running downstairs before Tim is ready to see him, he’ll do it. “C’mon,” he says. “Alfie made chocolate chip cookies. This conversation  _ absolutely  _ requires cookies.”


	3. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick learns about Tim while Bruce struggles to pick up the pieces after a taxing emergency

Dick’s hands shake as he picks up his mug, wrapping his fingers around the warm ceramic. He takes a slow sip of the coffee, hoping to let Jason’s explanation settle in his head for a moment before he replies. They’re only one sentence into what promises to be a lengthy story, and Dick already feels a headache creeping up on him. He sighs and sets the mug on the counter with a soft  _ clink, _ staring at his little brother’s serious face.

“So we’ve got ourselves a vigilante from another universe downstairs?” Dick asks. Jason nods, reaching for another cookie. “And he was Robin, back in his world?” Another nod. Dick rests his elbow on the counter and props his chin up on his open palm. “That’s not all,” he guesses, and Jason’s expression gives him away before he can reply.

“Our alternate selves really messed up, Dick,” Jason says in a rush. “I don’t know what to do, but I figured seeing you might be a bad idea, right now. He’s still having trouble keeping me separate from my counterpart, and I look way different from him.” 

“What happened?” Dick asks. He wonders what kind of crazy world this vigilante is from, if seeing him would be such a bad idea.

“Well, apparently there are four of us? Bruce’s kids, I mean. And um, two of us are actively trying to kill him,” Jason cringes, and his voice goes quiet with his next words. “I didn’t make it out of that warehouse, but somehow I—I came back, but I came back  _ wrong, _ and the League was involved somehow, and I got tossed into a Lazarus Pit, and…” He cuts himself off, and Dick puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, warm and alive. Jason’s eyes are glossy when he glances up. “I tried to murder him  _ three times, _ Dick.”

“Oh, Little Wing,” Dick says softly. He pulls Jason into a one-armed hug, heart breaking at the lost expression on Jason’s face. “That’s not you.”

“That’s exactly what Tim keeps saying,” Jason grumbles. “I guess Bruce’s other kid also tried killing him, but the part about it that really sucks is how alternate you handled it. Dick—you know what? I’m calling him Dickface. He deserves it. Dickface took Robin away from Tim and gave it to the murder brat without even telling Tim first. He just showed up in the Cave wearing Tim’s uniform. They practically kicked him out, and Dickface threatened to toss him into Arkham. Isn’t that messed up?” Jason scowls down at the counter, and Dick feels his blood run cold. 

“Why would I do that?” Horror creeps into his tone and freezes his limbs. “That’s...I wouldn’t do that, right?” 

“You had to become Batman after B disappeared. Tim thinks he’s still out there alive somewhere, but everyone else thinks he’s lost it. He got tangled up with the League somehow, because no one would believe him.”

“He just let one of his little brothers run off to the League?” Dick frowns, torn between cold fury at his alternate self and grief for this vigilante he hasn’t even met yet. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Tell me about it. My alternate self has killed a lot of people. I don’t like thinking that I could’ve been him.” 

“That has to be tough,” Dick replies. His heart twists in his chest when he sees the fear in Jason’s eyes. “But you’re never going to become him, okay?” Jason shrugs, and Dick sighs, rubbing his arm gently. “You’re a good kid, Jay. Don’t doubt it for a second.” 

“Thanks,” Jason says. “You’re a good brother, most of the time.” Dick snorts and drags his brother closer, thinking of how grateful he is for his second chance with Jason. “Tim said you were like this with him from the start. It’s got him really screwed up, Dickie. Not to mention how injured he is physically.” He frowns and snags Dick’s mug from the counter, taking a sip of the coffee. He makes a face and sets the mug back down, pushing it away. “Ugh, that’s just sugar,” he complains. 

“How badly is he injured?” Dick presses. 

“He probably would’ve died if he hadn’t taken his little vacation to this universe. B and Alfie had to remove his spleen. Tim was in the middle of the desert before he got here.”

Alfred enters the kitchen then, offering both boys a warm, tired smile. Jason immediately asks after Tim and sags in his chair when Alfred tells him Tim is out of danger. Even Dick feels relieved. He doesn’t have a face to go with the name, but he already feels like he owes it to the kid to make sure he’s okay, to make up for his alternate self’s actions. He knows the other Dick probably had his reasons for what he did, but thinking of a teenager bleeding out in the middle of nowhere without his family to back him up makes him queasy. 

“C’mon,” Jason says, gingerly getting to his feet and reaching for his crutches. “I wanna show you his files. He’s got a ton of dirt on all the vigilantes—us included.” Dick follows him upstairs to the library, spotting the laptop in Jason’s favorite chair and the different colored thumb drives scattered around. Jason drops down into the chair and opens the laptop, waving Dick over. Dick leans against the back of the chair and whistles lowly when he sees the detailed documentation laid out before him.

“Impressive,” he says. Jason pulls up Dick’s file and passes the laptop over to him. Dick sits down on the floor next to Jason’s chair, resting his shoulder against one of the arms. He reads through his history first, checking for differences. When he clicks on a photo, he’s surprised to see his parents’ faces smiling back at him. He’s even more surprised to recognize the photo—the picture the couple had asked to take with the Flying Graysons for their son’s first trip to the circus. It’s the same photograph he has framed on his nightstand, the same one given to him by a young boy a few years ago at a Christmas gala. 

“This is Tim?” He asks, a little breathless. “I recognize him. Tim Drake, right?” Jason nods. “He’s a sweet kid,” Dick says. He’s at a loss for anything else to say. He scans through the files of the next four years of his future, which is surreal to him. Tim has laid out a detailed timeline, and the more Dick reads, the more glad he is for the knowledge. There are some things his alternate self has lived through which he  _ never  _ wants to experience. 

Jason points out the last file in the folder, and Dick clicks on it. It’s video footage from the Cave, and it’s unsettling. Dick listens to the argument and has to look away when the new Robin comes on screen. He wonders how his alternate self could do that to someone he loves, and part of him really doesn’t want to know. He finds Tim’s files, next. Before he can start sifting through the documents, Jason waves a notebook in his face. Dick recognizes his brother’s tidy scrawl on the pages and raises a brow at him.

“I’ve been taking notes on all the screwed up stuff we need to talk to B about,” Jason explains. “We can compare after you read through all of it.” 

“Sounds like a plan, Little Wing.” He takes the notebook and a pen from Jason and settles in to do his research. He can feel Jason’s eyes hovering on the screen from above his shoulder. Dick makes notes dutifully, heart hammering against his ribcage as he digs through Tim’s past. He nearly starts crying when he stumbles upon a video of someone in a red helmet breaking into Titan’s Tower and attacking Tim. When he realizes just  _ who  _ is under that helmet, he actually does start crying.

He shuts the laptop and draws his legs close to his chest, pressing his face against his knees. Dick feels Jason’s hand come to rest between his shoulder blades, shaky and uncertain. Dick’s breath hitches, and he reaches up to wrap his fingers around Jason’s forearm. It takes him a long time to calm down, but when he lifts his head, he drags Jason into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Dick mumbles against his hair. Jason’s arms wrap awkwardly around his back. “I failed you, and I almost lost you, and I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you don’t matter.” 

They’ve already had this conversation a dozen times, but seeing what his little brother could’ve been, had he died and come back thinking he wasn’t wanted, breaks his heart all over again. Dick’s voice breaks as he makes his promises to Jason—promises to be a better brother and to love him the way he deserves. He’s said them all before, but this time, he thinks they extend to Tim, too. 

**

Bruce’s thumb draws lazy circles against the back of Tim’s hand. Tim clutches Alfred’s handkerchief in his free hand, clumsily scrubbing the tears from his face with it. His breathing hasn’t gone back to a regular rhythm yet, but he’s slowly clawing back control. 

“Sorry,” he croaks, after a moment. Bruce’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at him, bewildered. 

“Why are you apologizing?” He asks. The gentleness in his voice nearly draws Tim back to breaking down, but he takes a shuddering breath and blinks away the heat prickling at his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to drag you away from dinner,” Tim says.

“Your vitals spiked pretty dangerously,” Bruce replies easily. “We wanted to make sure you were okay.” Tim bites his lip and doesn’t say anything. Bruce frowns a little, brushing a hand through Tim’s hair. “What is it?”

“I could’ve taken care of it,” Tim says slowly. “I don’t understand why you’d check on me.” 

“I’m sure you could’ve handled it, but Tim, you had a panic attack, not to mention the stitches you tore. You shouldn’t have to work through it on your own.” Bruce’s voice is painfully gentle, and Tim sighs, aching with homesickness. “As capable as I’m sure you are, you’re still a kid, and it’s my job to help you out when I can.” 

“I’m not your kid,” Tim says, looking down at his fingers as they twist in the blanket. “You don’t have to pretend like I’m someone you need to be responsible for. I understand that you’re going to prioritize spending time with Dick and Jay.” 

“I’ll always want to spend time with my boys,” Bruce admits, smiling fondly. “But you’re a Wayne, even if you’re another Bruce’s son, and that means I’m going to take care of you, too.” 

“But I’m  _ not!” _ Tim insists. “I’m not part of the family. I’m a convenience, at best. You don’t have to waste your time on me.” He feels like he’s about to start crying again, and he tries desperately to put his emotions back behind a mask,  _ any  _ mask. He takes another uneven breath and lets himself go blank, shutting down the heavy heartache bubbling underneath his skin. “I won’t be a bother.” 

“You’re not a bother,” Bruce says. He brushes the sweaty hair clinging to Tim’s forehead out of his eyes. “Is there anything I can do to help with the anxiety?” 

“No,” Tim replies immediately. “It was just a nightmare. A memory, really.” He shrugs as casually as he can. “Not a big deal.” Bruce hums, studying Tim’s face for any slip of an expression.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” Bruce’s thumb continues to draw lazy circles against Tim’s hand. He’s quiet for a moment, thinking of a new topic. Finally, he offers Tim a smile, so much warmer than the ones he’s used to seeing on Bruce’s face—or at least, the ones he sees directed toward him. “I saw the files you uploaded to the computer. Thank you, Tim. I’m certain your information will be invaluable.” 

“Glad to be of help,” Tim says, tone empty. 

“Tim,” Bruce says, refusing to continue speaking until Tim meets his eyes. “You don’t need to be useful to us for us to keep you around. Let yourself rest and recover, alright?”

“Right. I’ll be out of your hair quicker, that way.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Bruce argues, brows furrowed. “I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we want you here, Tim. We would be happy to help you however we can, whatever that might look like.” He pats Tim’s thin shoulder. “For now, try not to tear your stitches again, alright?” Tim nods and looks down, avoiding Bruce’s eyes. He turns his palm over and wraps his fingers around Bruce’s hand.

“Thank you—for helping me, for being willing to listen.” He bites his lip, debating his next words. “I don’t really know how to just let myself rest. I’ve always been a conditional fixture with the Bats. I get to stick around as long as I’m useful, so…” He drags his free hand down his face, sighing. “You’re so  _ different.” _

“From what I’ve read in your files, I certainly am. Losing Jason...I can’t even imagine dealing with that.” Bruce shakes his head, looking haunted. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve better from him.”

“What?” Tim asks, eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t been fair to you.”

“He gave me all I had,” Tim says softly, voice breaking a little. “It’s all gone now.” He closes his eyes, thinking of his family, his friends, Robin. Behind his eyelids, he sees them all disappear in a heavy cloud of smoke. “It doesn’t matter,” he says between gritted teeth. 

“It does,” Bruce replies.  _ “You _ matter, Tim.” 

“I’m poison, Bruce.” His nightmare scratches at the insides of his skull again, demanding his attention. “I get everyone I love killed.” His eyes start to burn again, and he fights to keep his emotions in check, but he’s starting to feel overwhelmed. “No wonder no one ever bothers to love me back,” he says bitterly. “I should stop trying. It’d probably be better for everyone if I did, anyways.” His shoulders slump, and his hand drops from Bruce’s grasp. 

“You deserve to be loved,” Bruce says, tone soothing and desperately hurt at the same time. “You’re not poison.” His fingers brush through Tim’s hair again, and Tim has to struggle against himself. He wants to lean into the warm touch, a gentleness he hasn’t felt in months, but he can’t condemn this world’s Bruce like that. He leans away. “Tim, please look at me.” Reluctantly, he complies. 

Bruce’s expression is hard to read, mostly because it’s so much more open and vulnerable than anything Tim is used to. His eyes burn with something intense and sad as they rove over Tim’s face. After a moment of quiet, he sighs.

“You are not unloved,” he says, tone absolute. Tim wants to argue, but he’s sick of thinking about it, wondering why he’s always the one left alone. He doesn’t believe Bruce, and he thinks Bruce sees it. “I mean it,” Bruce continues. Something fierce creeps into his expression, and Tim wants to look away, but he can’t bring himself to. It’s still such a relief to see Bruce again, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be allowed to stay before he has to disappear from their lives again. He wants to appreciate every moment he has with this less broken version of his family. 

“You can’t know that,” Tim says, because he needs Bruce to understand. “My parents, Stephanie, Conner, Bart, Jason, and _ you.” _ He shakes his head, blinking back tears.  _ “Dead, _ all of them. Sure, Steph and Jason came back, and Bruce isn’t really dead, just gone, but I loved all of them, and they suffered for it, and all I’ve ever gotten from the people I care about is grief.”

“We care about you,” Bruce offers. Tim scoffs, and Bruce frowns. “It’s true. You’re a kind and brilliant young man, and from what we’ve seen so far, all you want to do is help people. Of course we care about you, Tim.” 

“You’re condemning yourself.” 

It’s the exhausting truth, and Tim knows Bruce will see it, eventually. He just isn’t the kind of person who gets to be happy. He’s never been wanted for himself. He was his parents’ heir, Jason’s ghost, Damian’s placeholder, Dick’s penance, and now, he’s nothing. He’s a feather drifting in the wind, wandering aimlessly. He’s been forced to leap, and he’s going to fall, fall, fall. In that regard, it’s a good thing to not have anyone left to care. Grief is a form of torture he won’t be able to inflict on others, and for that, he’s thankful.

Tim might be a lost cause, but he still wants to do what good he can. He needs to rescue Bruce from the timestream, and he has to leave these Bats before he can infect them with his misfortune. Maybe he’ll even be able to help them out with his knowledge of their potential futures. It’s a nice thought. He doesn’t want to think about the after—after he gets back to his own universe, after he rescues Bruce, after he has to leave before they can kick him out again.

“Is it alright if I stay?” Bruce asks. Tim leans back against his pillow and shuts his eyes. He knows he should say no, but he finds himself nodding, despite himself. “Thank you, Tim.” He doesn’t understand why Bruce would be thanking him, but he doesn’t question him. He just wants to sink down into the darkness. The panic attack has left him exhausted, limbs heavy and his abdomen aching from his still-healing wound. 

He shivers a little as he tries to let his mind drift into the quiet gray spaces of nothing. Tim hears Bruce stand, followed by footsteps, and then he feels the weight of an extra blanket settle over him. 

“Rest,” Bruce says softly. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Tim cracks one eye open and gives him an unimpressed look.

“What about patrol?” His words are slow, a bit slurred, but he’s still hanging on to his consciousness, for the moment. “Gotham’s more important.”

“Nightwing can look after Gotham for tonight,” Bruce says. “I’m exactly where I should be. After all, Robin needs a Batman.” Tim nearly snorts at his phrasing, despite the ache in his heart at being called his old name. Bruce must’ve read the reports on how he became Robin. He still doesn’t understand this Bruce’s priorities, but he thinks he’ll save that puzzle for later, when he’s not so drained. 

As he starts to drift off, Tim feels warm fingers card through his hair. A soft sigh escapes him, and he listens as Bruce’s low voice fills the medbay, a soft murmur of promises.

  
“Sleep well, Tim. I promise to make sure everything turns out okay. I’ll do whatever I can to help you learn how to be happy, to just exist without needing to be useful. I’ll keep you safe, and I promise to be there for you however I can. I hope you can trust me with that.” 


	4. Hazy Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storms break

Silvery moonlight spills into the room as Tim sits on the window seat, staring listlessly over the grounds. He’s finally been deemed well enough to leave the medbay, and tonight is his first night sleeping upstairs in the manor—staying in the manor, really. He hasn’t been able to fall asleep yet. His brain is too noisy, and he can’t stop thinking.

He hears a noise outside in the hall and gets to his feet, curious. Tim opens the door and pokes his head out, nearly cursing at himself when he sees Dick Grayson standing there. Dick looks up and freezes, face shifting into an awkward smile. Tim fights the urge to roll his eyes.

Dick laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. It’s strange, seeing him like this. He’s as young as he was when Tim first met him, all those years ago. His shoulders aren’t weighed down by Jason’s loss, and it makes him look even younger than Tim remembers. He looks disheveled, though. He’s wearing a hoodie over his Nightwing suit, and his hair is a mess. Shadows cling onto the skin under his eyes.

“I—sorry,” Dick says. “Rough night back in Bl ü dhaven. I was just…” He gestures toward his closed bedroom door down the hall. 

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells,” Tim says, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s your house.” 

“Oh,” Dick says. He bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “Right. Um, I guess I should say it’s nice to meet you?”

“Likewise,” Tim says slowly. Dick seems to pick up on his hesitant tone and sighs softly. He looks exhausted, and Tim wonders what kind of rough night would drive him back to Gotham. Tim lets out a breath, steadying his nerves. “Do you want to talk? We used to have hot cocoa on the bad nights.” 

“Hot cocoa sounds nice,” Dick replies. “But only if you’re okay with it?” Tim nods and gestures for Dick to lead the way. He follows him downstairs and into the kitchen. Dick starts moving toward the cabinets, going through the motions automatically. 

Soon enough, Dick sets two mugs on the counter and sits down next to Tim. He drums his fingers against the countertop and watches as the steam drifts through the air in lazy curls. Tim takes a slow sip and hums pleasantly at the taste. Dick relaxes, just enough to be noticable, and reaches for his own mug. 

“I looked through the files you uploaded to the Batcomputer,” Dick starts. “I ran into someone earlier tonight. A vigilante.” 

Tim feels his blood run cold. He bites the inside of his cheek, not wanting to interrupt but fighting the urge to bolt. This isn’t a great first conversation to have with this world’s version of his oldest brother. Dick scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim’s thin fingers wrap around his wrist before he can lower it. 

“Dick,” he says, voice painfully close to breaking. He still can’t let go of his anger at his universe’s Dick Grayson, but to see this version of him, so young and almost vulnerable makes it easier to separate the two in his mind. He needs to remember the two aren’t the same. This Dick Grayson hasn’t made the same mistakes, hasn’t hurt him yet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m just a little freaked out about it all. Thank you for the warning.” Tim shrugs it off, but Dick has a determined look in his eyes. “Seriously Tim, I know you and I have our issues to work through, but I really owe you.”

“It’s not you I have problems with,” Tim says. He pauses. “I’m trying to remember that, at least.”

“That’s fair,” Dick admits. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

“Right,” Tim says. He takes another sip of his drink to avoid saying more. He’s not sure whether or not he’ll be able to maintain his composure, and he doesn’t want to snap at Dick right now. He buries the old hurts and focuses on Dick’s downcast expression. “I’m glad you’re going to avoid some of what he went through.” 

Dick closes his eyes, looking pained and exhausted. Tim can’t help but picture the last time he and Dick had hot cocoa in the kitchen together, right after Kon died. They’d stayed up together until the dawn bathed the kitchen in pale yellow light, washing away some of the hazy gray Tim felt lost in. 

The gray keeps creeping back in.

Tim sighs and drains his cup, rising to his feet smoothly. His chest aches when he looks at this younger version of his brother, just three years his senior now. Bitterness and sympathy sit heavily against his throat, choking him. The floor is cold under his bare feet, and he can see the night sky through the window, starlight muted by the clouds rolling into Gotham. Tim knows the morning has to be drawing near, but he can’t see any sign of it. 

“Alfred will be awake soon,” Tim says evenly. “Are you staying awake?” Dick nods, looking a little lost. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.” Dick thanks him, but Tim doesn’t respond, focusing instead on crossing the kitchen and preparing the coffee. He snags Dick’s mug and adds an unholy amount of cream and sugar. He has a feeling Dick’s sweet tooth is a multiversal constant. 

“So,” Dick says, drawing out the syllable for a long moment. Tim glances over his shoulder and watches as Dick fidgets in his seat. “Can we talk for a little while?”

“You shouldn’t be alone anyways,” Tim says. He pours coffee into both mugs and passes one over to Dick. He leans against the counter, the edge digging into his hip. “Not on the bad nights, at least. What do you want to talk about?”

“I only know you from the files you uploaded,” Dick says. “It would be nice to have a proper introduction.” His eyes light up when he takes a sip from his refilled mug. “Oh, wow. This is perfect.”

“You’re pretty predictable,” Tim says, and despite himself, he smiles at Dick. “Tell me what you want to know.”

“Let’s stay away from the vigilante stuff, okay?” Dick asks, leaning forward and propping his elbows up on the counter. Tim nods, and he tips his head back to laugh that bright, Robin laugh. “Cool. So I know you’re crazy smart, but that’s about it. What do you like to do in your free time?”

“Haven’t had any in a while,” Tim muses. “But I like photography and video games. Train surfing is a lot of fun, too, but I guess that falls under the vigilante umbrella.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I think I’m more vigilante than kid, lately.” 

“Is that why you were awake?” Dick asks. He tilts his head to the side, studying the lines of Tim’s face. “You haven’t been able to drop your guard, right?”

“Right. Even before I left Gotham, I had to keep an eye on our other brothers. They want me dead, so not even the manor was safe.” Dick’s mouth twists into something a little more wounded than a frown. “Then, with the League of Assassins hovering over my head?” Tim scoffs. 

“That’s...a lot,” Dick says. “I know B mentioned he’s been trying to track Talia down to find his other kid—Damian, I think?—but anyways, other-me should’ve helped you. It sucks that he didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees. “It does.” 

“I appreciate you being willing to even talk to me.” Dick’s shoulders slump. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

“It makes me sad, if I’m being honest. Things are so much  _ better  _ here, and I wish the others could’ve had this.” He waves a hand around them. “All of it. Jason isn’t dead; Bruce isn’t broken, and Alfred hasn’t had to bury a grandson.” 

“What about me?”

Tim pauses for a moment to think, wondering what, exactly, Dick is really asking. Part of him wants to use his words as weapons, cutting and brutal, but he knows this version of his brother doesn’t deserve his vitriol. 

“You’re not carrying so much,” he finally says. “Guilt over Jason, protecting Gotham, responsibility for Damian—it weighs on him.” 

“And you?”

“Me? Well...little Timmy is loved. That’s more than I’ve ever had.” He hears footsteps coming toward the kitchen and sets his mug in the sink. “I’m going upstairs. Try to get some rest later.” 

He makes his way back up the stairs before Alfred can tell him to stay for breakfast. Tim retreats to the guest room he’s been given and draws the curtains, blocking out the lightening gray sky, still covered by clouds. He sits on the bed and buries his face in his hands. As much as he loves seeing the people he loves like family so much better off—without him, his brain supplies unhelpfully—he knows he needs to find his way back. He can’t stay here, can’t let himself get too attached to the Bats. That’s what landed him in this mess, in the first place.

**

Red Robin soars over the rooftops, a little unsteady but exceedingly determined. He figures he’s got a few hours before anyone comes looking for him at the manor, and by then, he’ll be long gone, lost in the wind. He’ll lay low in Crime Alley for a little while and figure out how he got to this dimension, and then he’ll work out how to get himself home. 

He’s done all the good he can for the Bats of this world. They’ve got access to his files, so they can avoid a few major catastrophes and find Cass and Damian before their parents have the chance to screw things up for them any further. It’s the most he can offer without risking them. 

Thunder cracks the sky overhead, and Red curses as the heavens open up with a fury. He’s soaked and shivering within moments, and he changes course to find shelter as soon as he can, aiming for the old theater. His teeth are chattering by the time he’s slipped into the building through a window, but the roof over his head keeps the rain at bay, and the walls block the wind. He’s grateful for the shelter, even as his bones ache with the chill.

Red falls into an uneasy sleep, waking up at the slightest shift in his surroundings—a particularly loud rumble of thunder, a mouse scurrying across the floorboards, the sound of sirens drifting in from the street outside. He’s not sure how much time passes before he hears the sound of glass breaking overhead. 

He bolts to his feet, drawing his bo staff and dropping into a defensive stance before his mind has caught up to him. He glances around, trying to pinpoint which window just broke and why, when he feels himself get pulled into a restraining hold from behind. Red shouts and tries to lash out with his staff, but it gets twisted out of his hands. His movements are too slow and clumsy from his still-healing injury and the stiffness in his joints from the cold. 

“Yes, I’ve found him, Batman,” a familiar voice says near his ear. Red twists a little and stares up at Superman’s face, completely dumbfounded. “We’ll be back soon.” 

Before he can speak, Red is swept up in flight, and the theater disappears beneath him. The clouds grumble above him, and Red finds himself agreeing with the sentiment as Superman flies them back toward the Batcave. He doesn’t understand why he’s even in Gotham right now, much less helping Batman bring him back. He doesn’t understand why Batman is trying to get him back, either. His brain feels foggy and distant, but he’s worried enough to keep turning the situation over and over in his mind, searching for the right answer.

He’s jolted back to reality when his feet touch the ground and another set of arms wraps around him, holding him tightly. He would’ve fallen over, had Clark not steadied him before he could topple to the ground. The person hugging him steps back, and Red is surprised to see Jason standing there with a sharp look in his eyes. 

“Don’t scare us like that!” Jason says fiercely. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Tim pulls the cowl down to reveal his face and shakes his head. Jason’s expression twists into a mixture of anger and sadness. “B and N are on their way back. They were scouring the whole city for you. B even called Uncle Clark to help out, and  _ he  _ brought—” 

Jason’s next words are drowned out by a strangled cry from Tim, who stumbles forward and practically throws himself at the figure making his way into the Cave. He’s caught, easily, and it only takes the sound of the heartbeat beneath his ear to bring Tim to tears.

It’s embarrassing, really and truly mortifying, but Tim doesn’t care what kind of first impression he’s making. He shuts his eyes and lets himself break, just a little. He gives himself a few minutes of chest-wracking sobs before he pulls away and stares up at the confused expression on Kon-El’s face. 

“Sorry,” Tim murmurs, voice wrecked from crying. Kon’s hands still rest on his shoulders, keeping him upright, and Tim can’t bring himself to move away, even when Batman and Nightwing drive the Batmobile back into the Cave and rush over. 

“What’s wrong?” Kon asks, ignoring the others hovering nearby. Tim lets out a wet chuckle.

“Aside from everything?” He asks. Kon raises a brow, and Tim can’t help but smile at his best friend. “It’s not anything wrong—the exact opposite, actually. You’re alive.” 

“Oh,” Kon says. His expression softens, and he offers Tim a smile—one he readily returns. 

“Sorry about that,” Tim says. “I’m Tim.”

“Hey Tim, nice to meet you.”

“Great!” Jason interrupts, looping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Introductions are over, so let’s make sure you didn’t hurt yourself while you were out there. Alfie’s gonna be so mad if you set your recovery back.” He grins at Tim, a look brimming with mischief to mask his worry. 

Alfred ushers everyone but Tim out of the medbay and methodically moves through a basic examination. He reminds him to be more cautious with his health, and Tim feels suitably chastised. Once Alfred gives Tim strict instructions to rest, he allows others to enter the medbay. Unsurprisingly, Bruce is the first one through the door.

“Why?” Tim asks softly, wary of the others hovering at the entrance. “Am I a threat, or something?”

“You’re one of my Robins,” Bruce says, as though that’s enough of an explanation. In a way, it is. “I take care of my kids.” He ruffles Tim’s hair—still a little damp from the rain. 

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re family, Tim. We just want you to be safe.” He glances over to the group huddled by the door. “Do you want to visit with your brothers, or would you prefer to spend some time with Conner?” 

“I’d like to talk to Kon, if that’s okay.” 

Bruce nods and stands, reminding him once again to stay in bed and rest. He pats Tim on the shoulder and ushers Dick and Jason upstairs. Clark follows after them, chatting amiably with Alfred. Kon moves over to the chair at Tim’s bedside and settles down. 

“You have questions,” Tim says. He smiles, feeling happier than he has in months. He knows it’s not  _ his  _ Kon, but seeing him still soothes the ache in his chest. “Do you want to ask, or should I just start at the beginning?” 

“Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”


	5. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim thinks about the future, and plots are made.

Tim wakes up and immediately wishes he hadn’t, because holy mother of  _ ouch, _ everything aches. He cracks an eye open and groans. The medbay is too bright, and his chest, throat, and head are killing him. His nightmare hasn’t fully let go of him—the words  _ ‘Be my Robin’ _ still ringing in his ears—so it takes him a moment to remember, oh right, he doesn’t have a spleen anymore. He’s sick, and somewhere in the multiverse, Ra’s al Ghul is laughing maniacally at him. 

“Hey buddy, how’re you feeling?” Tim rolls his head to his right and spots Bruce at his bedside. He’s wearing an ugly turtleneck sweater Tim thinks Dick gave him for Christmas one year, and he looks tired but pleased to see him. There’s a steaming mug of coffee in his hands.

“Like I went toe-to-toe with a sentient blender and lost,” Tim grumbles. He sounds like he’s been gargling with sharp rocks. He sits up with a wince. “How long was I out?” 

“About a day,” Bruce says. “It’s morning. Alfred’s making breakfast as we speak. Clark and Conner are both still here.” Tim reaches out and snatches the mug away from Bruce before he can even react. Bruce blinks in surprise but doesn’t object as Tim takes a sip. He clears his throat, a bit awkwardly. “You scared us when you ran off like that, Tim.”

“That wasn’t my intention.” 

“If you aren’t comfortable staying with us, that’s perfectly fine,” Bruce says gently. He places a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “But next time, I’d appreciate it if you told us before you take off like that.” 

“That’s not it,” Tim argues. “I just...couldn’t  _ do  _ this to you—couldn’t burden you like this anymore.” He takes another sip, just to shut himself up. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for feeling that way, but I do wish you hadn’t put yourself at risk like that. This fever is going to set back your recovery by a few weeks, and that’s assuming it doesn’t develop into anything worse.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Tim says, rushing to reassure Bruce. It’s a reflex, at this point. “I’ve been sicker than this before.” Memories of the Clench rush to the forefront of his mind, and Tim has to fight to stop himself from grimacing. 

“That isn’t nearly as comforting as you think it might be.” 

“Sorry,” Tim murmurs. He traces the rim of the coffee mug with the tip of a finger. The smell of vanilla and hazelnut drifts toward him, and he carefully avoids Bruce’s eyes. “Am I really...welcome here?”

“Of course you are. You’re one of my Robins, and that makes the manor your home.”

“I wasn’t  _ your  _ Robin, though, and I was never family like the others were. That’s been made abundantly clear to me.” He sighs. “It was pretty obvious after murder attempt number three, to be honest.” Bruce leans forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. “I wasn’t safe at the manor, by the end, so it hasn’t felt like home in a while.”

“No one in this family is going to hurt you,” Bruce says. His tone is fierce and protective, and it’s all Tim has wanted to hear for a long time. “You’re safe with us, Tim.”

Tim can barely remember what feeling safe is like. He’s been running from tragedy to tragedy for so long, and nothing good is ever permanent—not for him. Jason, Steph, Kon, Bart, Mom, Dad, Dana, Robin, Dick, Bruce...he’s gotten used to losing everything, regaining ground, and losing it all again. Tim reaches up with his free hand and tugs at the ends of his hair. Bruce’s calloused hand is warm over his when it gently guides Tim’s back down. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he says softly. 

“Does it matter?” Tim asks. He immediately regrets speaking without thinking first, because Bruce’s expression shifts into something practically despondent. 

“Of course it does. I promise you this, Tim: I will  _ always _ want you to be safe and happy.” Bruce hesitates, and Tim glances up, trying to read his features. He thinks Bruce looks worried, but he doesn’t understand why. “How can I help you be happy?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I know how to have  _ hope, _ anymore. It’s been—it’s been a rough few years, B. I don’t know what I want.”

There’s another pause as Bruce evaluates Tim’s words and forms a response. Finally, he speaks, voice low and warm.

“Would you like to stay with us?”

“I can’t,” Tim says. It’s so strange to be asked to stay, for once, but he knows he can’t belong here, no matter how much he’d like to. “My world needs me—the information I have. To save Bruce.” 

“We can find a way to send it along, but if you’re only going back there from obligation, back to people who are only going to hurt you, well, I’d rather have you here where you’re safe. But if you genuinely want to return to your other family, we certainly understand that, too. I’m sure they’re worried.” 

“My life doesn’t work like that, B. I’m not someone people come back for. No one’s worried.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, Ra’s might be worried, but I don’t think he’ll actually  _ care.”  _ Bruce frowns at that, and Tim can practically see him tuck that little slip of information away to analyze later. 

“Alright, how about this? All problems aside, if you could have anything, do anything at all, what would it be?” He asks. 

“I just want a family,” Tim murmurs, so softly he can barely hear himself. “I just want people to love me—even a  _ fraction _ of how much I love them.” 

“Then stay,” Bruce says, tone heartbreakingly gentle. “We can help you work through things, get you back on your feet.” He smiles, but the expression is a bit grim. “Show you how great of a kid you are. By God, you deserve better, Tim.”

“Then why does everyone always leave?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but he pulls Tim in close for a hug. It’s one of those all-encompassing hugs only Bruce can give. It’s safety and warmth and total assurance, and Tim leans into the hold for a long moment, unwilling to let go of the feeling. Bruce tucks the top of Tim’s head under his chin and hugs him tightly. 

“I’m not going anywhere, kiddo.”

“He said that, too,” Tim says. It’s not an accusation, just a weary jumble of syllables. 

“I’m sorry you’ve lost so much,” Bruce replies. “Will you at least stay with us until you’re feeling better? And I don’t just mean physically. If you truly want to leave, that’s perfectly alright, but I don’t want you to have to fend for yourself before you’re ready to.”

“I can take care of myself just fine,” Tim says, leaning back. “I’ve been doing it since I was little.”

“That doesn’t mean you should have to, and it certainly doesn’t mean you should be left without any support.” 

Tim frowns but nods at him. He’s willing to acknowledge what Bruce is saying, but only as far as it applies to others. No one should have to be alone, but Tim is different. His life doesn’t operate by those same rules. He’s not supposed to have people in his life, or at least, he can’t have them without hurting them in the process. 

Bruce seems to catch Tim’s line of thinking, but he doesn’t push reassurances on him. Tim needs evidence, and from the determined look in Bruce’s eyes, he’s going to provide proof of what he’s saying. Tim doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but he finds himself trusting Bruce, like he always has. 

In the meantime, he needs to figure out how to help the Bruce he left behind. Once he takes care of that, he might be willing to consider letting himself figure out what he wants from life. He can’t afford to think of anything other than the mission right now. It’s twisted and changed him into something he isn’t sure he likes. Too many compromises, too many losses—Tim Drake has been taken apart and put back together with shoddy craftsmanship. He wonders if Red Robin is all that’s left of him. 

He’ll never admit how much the thought scares him.

**

“So,” Jason drawls. He’s sitting on a paisley-patterned couch in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, swinging his good leg back and forth. “Alternate-you is Tim’s dead best friend?” When Kon nods, he hums thoughtfully. “That must be weird. You okay?” 

“I don’t like it,” Kon says. Jason’s eyes narrow, and he looks like he’s about to say something spiteful, but Kon beats him to the punch. “Tim’s been through a lot for anyone, let alone a kid our age.” 

From next to Jason, Dick nods, mouth turned down in a frown. He must catch the shadow crossing his little brother’s face, because he wraps an arm around Jason’s shoulders, drawing him closer. They’ve all suffered—Jason more than most—but Tim’s story makes each of them ache. Kon gets to his feet and begins pacing the length of the room. 

“He was really apologetic,” he says after a moment. “Like, he’s worried I’ll think he’s trying to replace the friend he lost by getting to know me.” He notices Jason cringe and raises a brow.

“Apparently other-me is an asshole,” Jason grumbles. “He thinks Tim replaced him—even though he was  _ dead, _ and I replaced Dick first, anyways—but he calls him Replacement and tries to kill him practically every time he sees Tim.” Jason scowls and folds his arms. 

“He’s not you,” Dick reminds him, tone infuriatingly gentle. Jason rolls his eyes but leans closer to his brother. He can’t imagine what Hood went through, but thinking about how close he was to being like him makes his stomach turn. Bruce got him out of that warehouse only  _ seconds  _ before the bomb went off. “So Conner,” Dick says, thumb rubbing soothing circles against Jason’s shoulder as he speaks. “What are your thoughts on the whole...Tim situation?” 

“He isn’t very nice to himself,” Kon replies. He scuffs his shoe against the carpet, frowning toward the floor. “I don’t get it.”

“Neither do we,” Jason says. “We’re trying to figure out how to help.” 

“We think B is planning on keeping him,” Dick adds with a smile. He stands, movements easy and fluid, and walks up to Kon. “What are you going to do?” Kon furrows his brows in confusion. “You have an out,” Dick says, still patient. “Tim knows you’re not the friend he lost, so if you’re not up for this—helping him—that’s fine.” 

“Are you kidding?” Kon asks. He runs his hands through his hair, a rough tug through the dark strands. “Did you see the way he reacted to seeing me? I can’t just leave after that!” 

Dick nods, smile broadening. He claps Kon on the shoulder and moves to retake his seat next to Jason. Kon sits down in one of the huge armchairs next to the couch, watching with amusement as Jason maneuvers his legs onto the couch and leans back against his brother’s side. Dick absentmindedly begins to thread his fingers through Jason’s curly hair, and for the first time, Kon gets to see Jason’s fiery demeanor soften into something drowsy and pleasant.

“Plotting time?” Jason asks, tilting his chin up to look at his brother’s face. Dick nods back at him, and the two boys snicker. “Time to introduce you to how the Bats come up with our convoluted plans,” Jason says to Kon. “Research first.”

Jason reaches toward the coffee table and picks up a slim laptop. He navigates to Tim’s files on the Titans—his team from his world—and passses the computer to Kon once he opens Superboy’s profile. While Kon is distracted with reading, Jason lets his eyes fall shut, leaning into the soothing, repetitive motions of the hand in his hair. 

“Tired, Little Wing?” Dick asks softly. Jason nods, not bothering to reply verbally, and he feels Dick’s shoulder shaking with a silent huff of laughter. He’d stayed up all night, watching over Tim in the medbay, and he finds himself dozing a little during the lull in conversation. 

Dick lets his little brother drop off to sleep, reveling at each rise and fall of Jason’s chest. He’s been thinking about Ethiopia a lot, even though nearly two months have passed since he nearly lost the brother he had only ever pushed away. He still can’t figure out why his alternate self screwed up his second chance so badly, throwing away another brother, even after actually losing Jason. 

Dick thinks it’s almost worse, what that version of himself did to Tim, than his initial treatment of Jason. He’d let Tim trust him, become the big brother he’s just now learning to be. He’d let this neglected kid confide in him and learn to rely on his support. Then, he’d fired Tim and given Robin away, just like Bruce. Does his alternate self not remember how much it hurt when it happened to him, or is he just willfully ignorant? Dick doesn’t know which answer is more frustrating. 

Kon sets the laptop aside and stares at Jason’s face, slack in sleep and looking far younger than usual. He raises a brow at Dick, who smiles and stands carefully, scooping Jason up and nodding toward the door. Kon opens it, and Dick carries Jason back to his room for some well-deserved rest. Dick shuts the door as quietly as he can and waves Kon toward the stairs. They meander into the kitchen, where Alfred has enlisted Clark’s help in setting the table for breakfast. 

“Jay’s asleep,” Dick says, leaning his elbows against the counter. Alfred turns from glazing the small mountain of cinnamon rolls long enough to smile at his eldest grandson. Clark glances up and takes one of the plates back to the cupboard. Dick notices Kon’s uncertain smile, still unused to being on friendly terms with Clark. He fills the quiet with idle chatter. “Good morning, Uncle Clark. Thanks again for coming by to help us out, yesterday.”

“Anytime, Dick,” he replies easily. Alfred passes him a steaming mug, which he takes with a broad smile. “Is Bruce going to join us for breakfast?” 

“Not sure,” Dick says. “He’s downstairs with Tim at the moment, so he could be awhile. He gets a little carried away with the mother-henning.” Clark laughs at that, the sound filling the room like sunshine. Some of the tension eases from Kon’s shoulders with the sound. 

“A rather apt description,” Alfred agrees with a wry smile. “I suspect he’ll be along shortly, however. I asked him to bring some food back to our young guest.” 

“Guest,” Dick says with a snort. “You act like he’s not already your newest grandson, Alf.” He snags a mug from the counter—an old, chipped one he’d painted as a kid—and fills it with coffee, sugar, and creamer. Alfred swats at his hand before he can go back for a second scoop of sugar, though. 

“I take it both yourself and your brother are already dreaming up a complicated plan to convince Master Tim to join our family?” Alfred asks, one brow raised at Dick’s sheepish expression. 

“He’s a skittish one,” Dick replies, feigning solemnity. He has to fight off a grin. “Can’t spook him off before we convince him to stay. Kon’s in on it, too. Pretty soon, we’ll have a proper conspiracy on our hands. It’s inevitable.”

“You boys are plotting again?” Clark asks, an amused lilt coloring his tone. “That means trouble.” 

“Step one is to shower Tim with love and affection. It’s the most _devious_ plan ever conceived.”


	6. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's illness gets worse, and things with Nightwing's big case get more complicated

“Pneumonia?” Jason’s blue eyes are wide as he trails after Bruce, finally free of his casts, only to tumble into a new problem. “Is he gonna be okay?” 

Tim looks so tiny in Bruce’s arms—tiny and pale and completely limp. Jason frowns at the sight of his brother as they make their way toward the garage. Bruce nods, once, and leads them to one of his less flashy cars. Jason scrambles to the backseat and helps Bruce maneuver Tim into the car, head on Jason’s lap. Bruce starts the car and drives them toward the hospital, jaw tense and eyes narrowed in focus.

“Call Barbara,” Bruce asks, glancing back at Jason in the rearview mirror. “And put her on speaker, please.” Jason dials the number, and soon enough, Barbara picks up the phone, sounding annoyed.

“I hope you have a good reason for calling, kiddo. I’ve had a very long night,” she croaks, groggy from sleep. 

“Hi Babs,” Jason greets, subdued. “I’m sure Dick told you about Tim, right?” He waits for the affirmative before he charges ahead with his explanation. “We’re on the way to the hospital with him, and I think B wants to get a head start on falsifying some documents for our cover story.”

“Hospital?” Barbara asks, sounding much more alert. “Is he alright?”

“He’s pretty sick,” Jason says, and he can’t stop the warble of worry from seeping into his voice. “Would you be willing to help us with the paper trail?” 

“Of course. Give me the story, and I’ll work some magic.”

“I appreciate the help,” Bruce says. “We’re going to try to keep things simple, but let me know if I need to make any adjustments to make your job easier.” Barbara hums, and Bruce continues speaking. “He’s Timothy Wayne, seventeen years old, born on May 4th—”

“Wait,” Jason interrupts. “I thought his birthday was in July?” He’d definitely written it down in his notebook.

“Yes, but our universes don’t line up exactly. There are five years and seventy-six days between the two. It was August in Tim’s world when he showed up here and early May in our world.”

“Alright,” Barbara says. Jason can hear her typing as she speaks. “What’s his story?”

“He’s my biological son, but his mother hadn’t told me about him. The two of them were recently in a car accident. She didn’t survive, and Tim lost his spleen. That’s how I got custody of him, but he’s experiencing complications from the asplenia. Any genetic differences between the two of us can be attributed to his mother.”

“Understood. Mind if I access his medical files?”

“Not at all.”

“Good,” Barbara says dryly. “Because I’ve already done it. I’ll send you an email with any relevant identifying information the doctors might need, once I’ve made the kid exist, according to the government.”

Jason laughs, and he sees Bruce glance back at him again, one side of his mouth twitching upward at him. The stress lines at his eyes don’t abate, but it’s nice to see him smile, just a little bit. Barbara wishes them luck and hangs up to falsify some documentation, and Jason leans back in his seat, Tim’s head still pillowed in his lap. His bangs drape over his closed eyes, and the sharp lines of his cheekbones seem stark in the shadow of the early morning light. His breathing is rough, and the scratchy sound of it makes Jason wince. 

He slips the phone back into his pocket, waiting for the inevitable call from Dick—once he wakes up. He’d sent a text the minute Tim’s condition had worsened, but he knows Dick’s been putting out more than a few fires in Bl ü dhaven this week, running himself ragged in the process. They’ll be lucky to hear from him before it’s time for the night’s patrol. 

Tim stirs a little, cracking his eyes open with a low groan. He blinks up at Jason, mostly incoherent. Jason manages to drag his muscles into a reluctant smile, and Tim frowns in confusion.

“Robin…?” He murmurs. “Did I drop my camera?” His brow furrows, like he’s deep in thought. “Oh wait, are you Hood right now?”

“Nah, I’m not Hood,” Jason replies softly. He smoothes some of the hair out of Tim’s eyes.

“Good,” Tim grumbles. “He’s stabby. So’s Dami.” His head lolls to the side, and he catches sight of Bruce. “Why are two-thirds of your kids so—so stabby? They don’t like me very much.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste, and the expression makes him look like a disgruntled chipmunk. 

“Wrong Bruce, Tim,” Bruce reminds him. Something in his eyes makes Jason feel sad in an undefinable way, almost homesick. “Your brothers might upset you sometimes, but they’re not going to ever hurt you on purpose.” 

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, forcing some cheer into his tone. He has to channel Robin to do it, using the same voice he uses when he’s wearing the mask. It helps him focus on reassuring Tim, rather than wanting to throttle his alternate self. “Sorry to say it, but you’re stuck with us now.”

Tim’s eyes close again, but he looks pleased. Jason takes that as a win, and Bruce gives him an approving smile. Bruce parks the car and scoops Tim back up into his arms. Jason follows after him, feeling like a little duckling. They enter the building, and Bruce starts to spin his tale about his long-lost son and explains the pneumonia. His normal Brucie facade is cracked, true worry showing through his pleasant exterior. Nurses whisk Tim away, leaving Bruce to fill out a stack of paperwork. 

They make their way over to the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting area, and Bruce hunches over, studying the papers in his lap. Jason fights the urge to pace. Now that he’s free from the casts, he’s brimming with energy, and his frayed nerves aren’t helping. Bruce eventually asks him to get them some coffee—a transparent excuse Jason readily accepts. Jason hops up to fetch two cups of lukewarm coffee, thick as tar. 

When he gets back to the waiting room, he sees his chair has been stolen by a very ruffled Dick Grayson. Dick smiles at him tiredly and plucks one of the cups from his hand, downing it in one gulp. He makes a face at the taste, but he doesn’t comment on the coffee, other than a mumbled word of thanks.

“Rough night?” Jason asks. Dick nods, leaning an elbow on the armrest. His eyes are half-closed, and his hair sticks up in several directions. He’s wearing an oversized, rumpled hoodie, and there’s a large scrape on one cheek. Jason sits down next to him and nudges him with the toe of his sneaker. “I hope you put antiseptic on that,” he says. “Or else Alfie’ll  _ know.” _

“Can’t have that,” Dick says. He offers Jason a lackluster smile. “How’s Tim doing? Any word?” Jason shakes his head, and Dick yawns, grumbling something inaudible.

“What happened?”

“Got a lead on those weird energy spikes we’ve been tracking. I’m planning on going to check it out once visiting hours are over.” He grins, lopsided. “I’ve already got my work clothes on under the civvies.” 

“Get some sleep first, Dickhead,” Jason says, elbowing him in the ribs. Dick sticks his tongue out at him, and Jason just grins at him, the picture of innocence. He even lets his older brother use his shoulder as a pillow. He doesn’t miss the fond smile Bruce aims their way, and Jason’s struck again by the reminder of how close he came to losing this—his family. 

He thinks of Tim, adrift and alone, and he hates knowing how much his alternate self has contributed to that isolation. He remembers feeling so  _ awful  _ after his last big argument with Bruce before Ethiopia, being benched and feeling one wrong step away from getting tossed back onto the streets. Hood never had the chance to watch Bruce make things right between them, and Jason feels a prickle of hate for the League of Assassins for turning his alternate against his own family, not to mention the awful way they were trying to manipulate Tim. The next time he sees Ra’s al Ghul, he’s going to—well, not fight him, because that guy has centuries of experience over Jason, but still—give him a piece of his mind. He doesn’t think Alfred will make him put money in the swear jar for it, either.

**

Nightwing perches on one of the rafters of the warehouse, waiting for some sort of deal to go down. He’s not sure what he’s about to find out about those weird energy spikes, but his source had been adamant. The shadows cling to him like a second skin as he balances easily. He’d stayed at the hospital with his family for hours, until visiting hours ended. There wasn’t any news on Tim’s condition, but he knows Barbara is keeping an eye on him from the hospital’s security cameras. All he can do now is wait. 

He forces himself to focus on the night ahead of him, steadying his breathing and hoping something will happen soon. He’s itching for a fight after a day of worrying, but he has a feeling he’ll spend more time eavesdropping than taking action.

Finally, people start to filter into the derelict building, taking seats at a rickety table underneath the rafter he’s sitting on. Nightwing recognizes a few of the big name drug dealers’ deputies, and one or two weapons traffickers are here, too. A trickle of unease runs down his spine. A woman he doesn’t recognize strides into the warehouse last, and at the sight of her, the assembled group falls silent. She has an eerie, commanding presence about her, but other than that, she looks pretty ordinary. 

The woman has blonde hair, pulled out of her face in a sleek ponytail, and she’s small, without any defined musculature. Her clothing is nondescript and all-black. She’s carrying a backpack slung over one shoulder. The smile on her face isn’t particularly friendly, and it sets Nightwing’s nerves on edge. 

“As agreed,” she says, moving toward the table the men have all gathered around. Her accent is vaguely Scandinavian. She sets the bag down and begins to rifle through it, removing several wrapped packages and handing them out to different people. “The Circle sends its regards and thanks you for your patronage.” She zips the backpack back up and puts it back on, stepping back while the men examine their purchases. 

Nightwing sucks a nearly silent breath through his teeth when he sees what’s being sold. The weapons and tech in this warehouse are nothing like anything he’s ever seen before. They’re leagues ahead of what the most advanced equipment should be. The woman’s smile is more smug now, and Nightwing’s stomach plummets toward his feet. If his contact was right, and this is the reason those weird energy readings have been popping up all over the place lately…

This is bad.

“Questions, boys?” The woman asks. 

“How do we know this is legit?” One of the arms dealers asks. He’s got a nasty scowl and a scar running down the side of his face, twisting his mouth into something even uglier. The gun in his hand looks complex and  _ far  _ more technologically advanced than it should be. The woman’s responding laugh isn’t reassuring.

“Easy now, we’ve provided a target for demonstration.” She snaps her fingers, and two new people enter the building. One of them is bound and gagged, and the other drags him to the center of the room. “You may test your new toys on the pest.” 

The arms dealer stands, but before he can raise his weapon, Nightwing tosses smoke pellets to the ground and swoops down, landing on the table. He hears a few curses as the gathered men realize just who’s crashed the party, and he lets himself grin. He dives past a few blind shots from some of that scary tech and makes his way toward the bound guy. He can hear some of the men scattering, escaping before Nightwing can get to them, but his priority is the hostage. 

He refuses to think about that weaponry making its way to the streets. 

The woman is long gone by now, but the man with the hostage is using his captive as a shield as he tries to back away from the gunfire and general chaos. Nightwing manages to knock the weapon out of his hands and wrench the guy’s wrist backward, nearly snapping the bone. The man yelps and drops his hostage, and Nightwing is quick to press the advantage, knocking the guy out and using zip ties to make sure he can’t escape.

A few stragglers have stayed behind to try their luck at taking down Nightwing, but he’s faster. Even with the new weaponry, he’s the better fighter. Their unfamiliarity with the weapons also helps. Nightwing moves through the thinned crowd with a sharp efficiency, taking down three of the drug gangs’ men and one of the arms dealers with ease. The majority of the men were smart enough to run, but getting his hands on some of the new tech will definitely help his investigation, even if most of it got away from him.

The smoke clears, and Nightwing sighs when he sees the deserted building. The deal had gone spectacularly south, but he managed to save the hostage. He’s not sure if he’s got a civilian or a threat on his hands now, but at least he probably prevented the guy’s murder, if anything. He glances down and sees a face much, much younger than he was expecting. Teary brown eyes blink back up at him, and Nightwing is quick to haul him to his feet. 

“Hey,” Nightwing says gently. He notes the cuffs around the guy’s wrists, designed to contain meta-humans. He tugs the gag down, and the guy—the kid, really—offers him a wobbly smile. “It’s going to be alright,” Nightwing continues, checking him over for injuries. He’ll have to be careful to get the cuffs off without hurting him, but otherwise, he thinks the kid is fine. 

“Thanks for the save,” the kid says, speaking so quickly his words almost blur together. “Man, this has been a rough night. I really owe you one, Dick.” Nightwing freezes in place, expression hardening in an instant. His fingers tighten around one escrima stick as the kid seems to notice his slip. “Whoops, sorry! Urgh, this is so not going how I thought it would. I mean sure, Tim told me I’d get myself into trouble on my way to find you guys, but this is just ridiculous.” He pouts, and Nightwing’s confusion grows by the moment. One word in particular sticks out to him.

“Tim?”

“Yeah, Tim,” the kid says, as though it’s obvious. “Freaky smart, super nerdy, your little brother from an alternate universe, that guy? You  _ have  _ met him by now, right?” NIghtwing nods slowly, still completely lost for words. “Great, awesome. Okay, so can we maybe get out of here before I give you the deets? I really don’t want to be around when this guy wakes up.” He nudges the man’s head with one foot. 

“I’ve got a safehouse nearby,” Nightwing finally says, once he’s untied his tongue.

“I know you don’t trust me yet,” the kid says. “But that’s okay! I can prove what I’m saying, and until then, the cuffs can stay on. No biggie.” He sounds surprisingly chipper for the ordeal he’s just been through. He grins brightly at Nightwing. “Lead the way.” 

They head back to Nightwing’s closest safehouse, and Nightwing sits the kid down on the couch and gets him a glass of water. He might not trust this kid who apparently knows his identity, but he’s not going to make him suffer for it. The kid sips on his water and looks around curiously, wide brown eyes scanning the room back and forth in a wild pattern. Finally, his gaze settles back onto Nightwing, leaning against the opposite wall, watching his guest silently.

“Right,” the teenager says. “Proof. Okay, so you’re Dick Grayson. You were the first Robin, but now you’re Nightwing, and basically, Tim told me to find you ASAP once I got here. I’m from the future, which is a long story, but that’s really not important right now. Oh! You can also check the thumb drives if you still don’t believe me. I was one of Tim’s teammates in his original world.”

Nightwing realizes why the kid looks so familiar. The wild brown hair, doe eyes, the crooked smile—he recognizes him from one of the profiles Tim has meticulously cultivated. A name bubbles up to the front of his mind.

“Bart Allen?”

“That’s me! I’m here to help save the future, or whatever. Nice to meet you!” 


	7. In Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart explains the danger they're facing, and Tim starts gathering allies.

Something heavy crashes into Tim before he’s fully awake. Startled, he opens his eyes to see a mop of brown hair and wiry arms wrapped around his waist. He’s got a lapful of Bart Allen, and his brain stutters to a halt. 

“Bart?” He croaks. His throat is killing him, but seeing his friend again makes the pain inconsequential. 

“Hi Tim!” Bart chirps, looking up at him with a bright smile. “Before you ask, no, you're not hallucinating. I’m real, pinky promise!” He holds up a pinky, which Tim loops around his own. His skin is warm, alive.  _ Real. _ Tim breaks down almost immediately, and Bart clings to him with his free arm as he dissolves into tears. 

“How do you know me?” He finally manages to choke out. “Are you…”

“No,” Bart says softly. “Not the Bart you lost, sorry. But time travel is pretty handy for making friends with people you already know.”

“Let me guess,” a voice says from Tim’s left. He hadn’t even realized they weren’t alone in the room. He’d been so focused on seeing his friend again, but now he glances around. He’s in a hospital room, and Kon is sitting in the chair next to his bed. “You have a USB drive somewhere Tim left behind for you?” Bart nods, grinning, and Kon snorts. “Typical.” 

“Jerk,” Tim grumbles. “Make it up to me by fetching me a computer?” Kon rolls his eyes but stands anyway. “Coffee too?” Kon shakes his head and walks out of the room before Tim can plead with him. Bart snorts, and Tim looks back at his friend, still caught up in the feeling of seeing Bart again, smiling and alive.

“Explanation time?” Bart asks. At Tim’s nod, he sits up, but he keeps his pinky looped around Tim’s. “Okay, so I have a message from alternate-future-you, so you’ll have to check that out in a little while, but I can give you the basics. I was supposed to run interference until I met up with you, but I kind of got caught, so your brother had to swoop in and save me from the guys we’re supposed to be taking down. They’re called the Circle. I don’t know much about them—highly secretive, blah blah blah...but I can tell you this much: they royally  _ suck.” _

“What are they trying to do?”

“It’s not really the Circle pulling the strings. It’s the League of Assassins, and uh, their plan is to assassinate? Not super great.” 

“Not great, no. Who are the targets?” 

“It starts with the Bats,” Bart explains softly. “Then the other heroes.”

“And the Circle plays which role?”

“They’re weapons traffickers, working across multiple universes. They have a way to hop between worlds, steal some crazy weapons in one, and sell it to the highest bidder in another.” 

Kon returns with a laptop tucked under his arm and Dick Grayson in tow. Dick lights up at the sight of Tim awake and immediately drags him into a hug. Tim sighs, preparing himself for mother-henning. 

“How are you feeling?” Dick asks. “You’ve been out for a few days, and we’ve all been worried.” 

“I’m fine,” Tim says, almost automatically. Dick frowns at him, but Tim just shrugs. He’s being as honest as he can. He doesn’t feel  _ great, _ but he’s definitely better than he was when he first got to this world. Dick doesn’t seem convinced as he sits at the foot of the hospital bed. He still offers Tim a warm smile, though. 

Tim takes the laptop from Kon and immediately boots it up. The USB drive Bart hands him has a few files, labelled in the order which Tim needs to go through them. He opens the first file, which is an audio recording. His own voice filters out through the laptop’s speakers.

“Find as many allies as you can. You’re going to need them for Contingency Plan: Lima Romeo.” 

Tim curses, face paling. His friends look alarmed at his sudden change in demeanor, but Tim’s mind feels both blank and crowded with too much noise. He’s never had to use the last resort contingency before. The thought terrifies him, sending his thoughts spiralling into a freefall. He fights to control his breathing before he can spiral into an anxiety attack. 

“This isn’t good,” he finally manages to say. “Kon, I need you to track down Cassie as soon as you can. Bart, find Cissie and Greta.” He looks up at Dick. “Has Stephanie made herself known yet?” Dick shakes his head, and Tim sighs. “Alright, ask Barbara to track her down. We need to at least keep an eye on her. Also, give me your phone.” Dick hands it over, and Tim dials Bruce’s number.

“Dick? Is everything alright with Tim?”

“Hey B, it’s me, actually.” He hears a sigh of relief over the phone and bites back a surprised remark. “I need to be discharged as soon as possible. Something’s come up. Can you handle that for me?”

“I’m not certain that’s the best course of action, Tim.” Bruce sounds stern but not annoyed. “You’re still sick, buddy. You need to give yourself enough time to recover.”

“I can recover at the manor,” Tim argues. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Getting to Damian and Cass just became higher priority.” Bruce hums, a questioning sound, and Tim sighs. The frantic feeling tightening around his chest hasn’t eased. “I promise I’ll explain later, but I need to have access to my work. Oh, and book a flight to Nanda Parbat.” 

“Alright,” Bruce says after a moment of silence. “I’ll have you transferred to our care here at the manor. Could you please put Dick on the line?” Tim passes the phone over and turns to his friends. 

“Alright guys, once you recruit the girls, bring them here.” He snags the pen and pad of paper resting on the tray table next to the bed and scrawls the address to one of Bruce’s properties, a small cabin in the woods outside Gotham’s city limits. Kon and Bart nod and leave the room, chatting quietly. Dick hangs up the phone shortly after the door shuts behind them.

“Bruce says he’ll call back once you’re good to go.” Tim nods without looking up, too busy typing on the laptop at a furious pace. “Tim...what are you doing?” 

“Something reckless,” Tim replies. He grins, wicked and toothy. It’s  _ Red Robin’s _ smile, and it sends a visible shiver down Dick’s spine. 

They make their way back to the manor within the hour, and soon enough, Tim is down in the Cave, still typing away at his laptop. He’s bundled up in one of Dick’s old hoodies and a warm blanket knitted by Alfred, sitting cross-legged in one of the rolling chairs near the Batcomputer. Bruce, Dick, and Jason hover nearby, and Alfred is working on repairing Tim’s uniform on the other side of the Cave. 

“Okay, I’ve got everything in place,” Tim says. It’s the first thing he’s said since coming back to the manor. He blinks up at the others, all with varying levels of concern on their faces. “Oh, right. I need to explain. Long story short, we have a crew of multiverse-hopping weapons traffickers working for the League of Assassins.”

“Hence the flight to Nanda Parbat?” Bruce asks. 

“Exactly,” Tim says. “I know I’m still sick, but I need to be there.” The others exchange glances, and Tim rolls his eyes. “Trust me on this, okay?” He stands and retrieves his mended uniform from a disapproving Alfred. “I have a plan, and if everything goes well, we can deal a blow to the League and make sure Damian gets out of there as soon as possible.” Bruce studies him for a long moment.

“Let’s go.”

**

Batman and Red Robin suit up and take the Batwing to Tibet. Red stares out the window, watching as the mountains give way to the hidden city below. The League of Assassins’ base is as labyrinthine and elegant as he remembers. The sight of it sends a chill through his bones.

“Are you certain about this?” Batman asks, one hand settling on Red’s shoulder. “Ra’s doesn’t know you’re in this world yet. You don’t have to lose that anonymity.” 

“My intervention will catch Ra’s off guard. That’s the best way to deal with him. Besides,” he looks up at Batman. “I’ve got you to watch my back.” 

They exit the plane and make their way into the base, trailed by but not stopped by a group of ninjas. Red keeps his head held high, composure hanging on by a thin thread, as he walks shoulder-to-shoulder with Batman. He feels braver, knowing he’s there. He isn’t facing Ra’s alone, this time. He has a plan and someone at his side. 

It’ll be fine.

Ra’s is waiting for them, lounging in his gilded throne with a haughty smile. He doesn’t look surprised by Red Robin’s appearance at Batman’s side, but Red recognizes the hungry glint in his eyes. He’s curious. Batman had reluctantly agreed to let Red Robin take the lead with Ra’s, so Red steps forward, taking a steadying breath as those acid-green eyes roam over him.

“Hello Ra’s,” Red says evenly. “We’re here for Damian.” Fierce, capable, unintimidated—he can do this. Ra’s waves off the amassed group of ninjas and waits for the room to empty before he speaks.

“I’m afraid we haven’t yet had the pleasure of being introduced,” Ra’s says. He leans forward, steepling his hands together and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. “Though, it would seem you already know who I am. I presume you’re the newest child taken in by the Detective...Timothy, yes?”

“Call me Red Robin,” he replies shortly. “Stop deflecting. We’re here for a reason, and I fully expect you to cooperate.”

“You speak as though you have some form of leverage, Timothy. Please, do elaborate.”

“The Council of Spiders,” Red says simply. Ra’s raises a brow, and Red knows he’s caught his attention. He carefully avoids mentioning the Circle and the plan against the Bats the League is working on. If Ra’s believes they’re only there for Damian’s sake, he can deliver a crippling blow to the League before too much suspicion mounts. “I’ll trade information on how to take down each member, as well as their current whereabouts, if you let us take Damian with us.” He glances back at Batman. “He deserves to be with his father, after all.”

Red retrieves a sheet of lined paper, neatly folded into a square. He smooths out the creases and hands the page to Ra’s, who takes it with an amused look dancing across his features. The expression shifts to slight surprise when he reads through the carefully crafted profiles Red has given him. Aliases, known safehouses, abilities and weaknesses, and current whereabouts are all listed in Red’s neat handwriting—far different from Tim’s messy scrawl. 

“I’ll be saving you a major headache and the lives of your men,” Red says coolly, aware of the intrigued look Ra’s is burning into his skin. “Now,” he looks up, directly into those hungry eyes. “Summon Talia and Damian.” 

He holds his breath until Ra’s makes his decision. Cool relief rushes through him when Ra’s gives the order, and after a few minutes, Talia enters the room, holding a bag and followed closely by her son. Red can’t believe how little Damian is, how different he is to the one he knows. Of course, he’s five years younger than his counterpart from Tim’s world, so it isn’t that surprising, just jarring.

“Hello Beloved,” Talia says. Her smile is cautious and resigned. “I knew this day would come, eventually. Though, I had hoped for more time.” She turns to her father. “Are you certain?” Ra’s nods once, and Talia bows her head. She kneels down and murmurs a few sentences in Arabic to Damian. She lets him hug her tightly for a long moment before she draws herself away. Talia stands and fixes an intensely determined look onto her face, staring unflinchingly at Batman. “Swear to me you will take care of him.” 

“Of course,” Batman says, and his voice is all Bruce, with none of the gravel of the vigilante. He pulls down the cowl to meet her stare with his own, unmasked eyes. “He’s our son, Talia. I’ll keep him safe.” He extends a hand toward Damian. “It’s nice to meet you, Damian.” 

Damian glances back at his mother, who gently pushes him forward, encouraging him with more words too quiet for Red to hear. He stumbles a little and makes his way over to Bruce. His little hand is completely dwarfed by Bruce’s callused palm when he reaches out to take it. Red keeps an eye on Ra’s as father and son interact for the first time. Talia hands the bag to Red, who nods his thanks but doesn’t speak. She casts one last look at her son before leaving the room without a sound. 

“Ready to go, B?” Red asks. Bruce gives the confirmation and pulls his cowl back over his face. Red leads the way, taking a winding path back toward the jet. He stops at a fork in the path, looking around as though he were confused, and before Batman can direct him to the left, where the hangar is, he takes the right path. He ducks into a room and quickly backs out—but not before slipping a thumb drive into one of the computers’ ports. He slips back down the hall, heading in the correct direction, this time.

They make their way back to the Batwing without issue, and once they’ve taken off, Tim pulls back his cowl and turns his laptop on. He types in a few commands and shuts it again, smiling sharply. 

“What did you just do,” Bruce asks flatly. He glances back at Tim, completely unamused.

“I might or might not have executed a program to wipe their databases and also maybe blow up a few of their actual bases.” Tim shrugs easily, ignoring Bruce’s slack-jawed look. “Not without ample warning, of course. I want to cripple the League, not exterminate them. It should distract Ra’s enough for us to stop whatever the Circle is planning on his behalf.”

“And you didn’t think to let me in on your plan?” Bruce asks, tone shifting to something stern. “Tim, that was reckless. I let you deal with Ra’s—while you’re still  _ sick, _ nonetheless—but what if you’d gotten caught?”

“As far as the League knows, I’m a new vigilante, and that was my first time visiting their base. I just got lost trying to find the hangar. Plausible deniability, and whatnot.”

“Tim, you’re a wonderful boy, and I’m so very glad you’re my son, but you’re absolutely going to worry me into an early grave, at this rate.”

“Mother mentioned you recently discovered another son,” Damian says. It’s the first thing Tim has heard him say. His voice is still soft with youth, not anything like the biting tone he usually directs at Tim. “You’re Timothy?” He asks, wide green eyes roving over Tim’s face. 

“Yeah, I usually just go by Tim, though. Nice to meet you, Damian.” Tim reaches out his hand, breath caught in his throat. He’s taking a risk here, well aware he could be scorned for reaching out, but to his surprise, Damian reaches back. They shake hands, and Tim can’t stop himself from smiling. “I’m really glad to have a little brother.” 

“Will you teach me?” Damian asks. He lowers his voice a little, so Bruce can’t overhear. “I’ve only ever heard stories of Father and his many triumphs. I don’t yet know what’s expected of me.” 

“Of course,” Tim says. “But you don’t need to worry, okay? B is going to love you no matter what. Just don’t be mean to our other brothers or Alfred, and you’ll be good.” 

“Grayson and Todd are truly brothers to you?” Damian asks, looking dumbfounded. It’s a cute expression on his face, still chubby with baby fat. Tim nods, still smiling, hoping his expression is reassuring. Damian smiles back. It’s tiny and hesitant, but it’s there. “Did you really manage to outsmart my grandfather?” Tim laughs and nods again, this time more enthusiastically, and Damian’s eyes widen with glee. “You promised to teach me! No take backs!” 

  
And sure, Tim is used to feeling emotional whiplash from the whole ‘alternate-universe’ thing, but  _ this  _ might just be a little too much for his brain to handle. 


	8. Younger Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jason meet Damian, and Jason has a talk with Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope everyone has had a lovely holiday season, and I hope this upcoming year is lovely for all of you. As always, thank you for reading!

There’s a tiny human in the Batcave.

Dick has read through Tim’s files on the Robin his alternate self replaced his brother with—a vicious assassin determined to kill Tim. He’s ready for almost anything when it comes to meeting Damian al Ghul, almost desperate to find some logic behind his other self’s decision. But when a little kid—probably only five or six years old—follows Bruce and Tim off the plane, one hand clinging to the fabric of Tim’s cape, Dick’s thought processes stutter to a halt. 

Damian stops walking when he catches sight of Dick, Jason, and Alfred waiting by the Batcomputer. The tug on his cape alerts Tim, who kneels down and speaks to the little boy in a hushed tone. He must reassure the child, because after a moment, Damian nods and loops his tiny fingers around Tim’s hand. Tim stands to his full height and smiles at the small group waiting for them. 

“Hi guys,” Tim says. The cowl is down, revealing his face and mussed hair. His smile is bright. “Guess who blew up multiple League bases and fried their entire network? And also probably made an enemy for life?”

“You’re my hero,” Jason says without missing a beat. He laughs at Bruce’s scandalized expression. Even Tim grins a little, embarrassed but pleased.

“Also, this is Damian, our little brother.”

“Hello,” Damian says, and the expression on his face is caught somewhere between shyness and haughtiness.

“I’m sure Talia has told you all about them already, but this is Alfred, Dick, and Jason,” Tim explains. Damian nods in agreement and offers them a tiny, uncertain wave. 

“Welcome to the family, Master Damian. Now Master Tim, you are still very ill, and I do believe it’s time you had another dose of your antibiotics.” Tim grimaces but nods, following after Alfred as he heads to the medbay. “We shall consider ourselves lucky if you do not suffer from another relapse, young man.”

“It was worth it,” Tim grumbles. Alfred’s expression softens a little, and he pats Tim on the shoulder. Dick watches them go and turns his attention back to the tiny child in front of him. Damian is staring after Tim, a small frown on his face, but when Dick kneels down to his height, his green eyes snap to his face.

“Hi,” Dick says. “Do you want a tour of the manor?” 

Damian glances back toward the medbay, where Tim is arguing with Alfred over how much bedrest he needs. Tim looks exhausted and pale, so Dick is inclined to side with Alfred on whatever he says. 

“Timothy promised he’d come with us,” Damian says after a long pause, tone uncertain. “But he also told me to be nice. Is it...not nice to wait?” 

“I think waiting is a great idea,” Dick says. He offers Damian a smile while keeping an eye on the medbay. He’d been reluctant to watch Tim go off to Tibet in the first place, but hearing about explosions and enemies for life has Dick worried. He’s determined not to make the same mistakes his alternate self did; he won’t lose Tim just for the little kid staring warily at him. “In the meantime, do you have any questions for me or Jay? We’d be happy to tell you anything about Gotham or the family you’d like to know.”

“Ask away,” Jason adds. He lounges on one of the rolling chairs by the computer, spinning idly in half-circles. He picks up a mug of tea from the desktop and takes a swig. 

“Father trained you both,” Damian says, clasping his hands together, like he’s trying not to fidget. “Is he very strict?” 

Jason sits up a little straighter, studying Damian’s expression carefully. Dick stays quiet, knowing Jason will want to voice his thoughts, especially if Damian is really asking how Bruce compares to the League in terms of how children are taught. He knows the League is brutal, and even though Damian is still too young to enter into proper training, he’s probably still been conditioned to expect harsh treatment. The question probably stings at the wounds left behind by Willis Todd. 

“He’s not strict in the way you’re thinking,” Jason says evenly. “B makes sure we’re safe while we train, and he doesn’t hurt us.”

“He can be stoic and stern,” Dick adds, moving over to Jason and setting a hand on his shoulder. “But he loves all of us. You won’t ever have to worry about that, okay?” It’s as much a reassurance for Jason as it is a promise to their new brother. He glances over to where Tim sits, suffering through Alfred’s mother-henning with a patient smile. It’s something to make sure Tim learns, too.

“Timothy said you two are his brothers,” Damian says. “Even though you are not blood, he claims those ties. Is that possible?”

Dick feels like he’s been kicked in the ribs, the wind knocked out of him at the blow. He and Jason exchange a weighted look. It hurts, comparing what Tim has said to what he believes. Because they are his brothers, and Tim wasn’t lying to Damian, but he wasn’t being completely honest. He doesn’t think his family sees him the same way. He believes he’s an albatross, something unwanted and unloved. Dick sees it every time Tim looks at him and sees, just for a moment, the other version of him, the one who renounced those ties and tossed Tim into the wind. 

“Yeah, he’s our brother,” Jason says, after Dick struggles to find his voice for a moment too long. “It doesn’t matter to us that we’re not related. We’re family because we choose to be.” 

“Oh,” Damian says, brow scrunching up in confusion. “What does that mean for me? I’m only here because I’m a blood son. Do I have to wait for Father to choose me?” 

“Why do you think he flew all the way to Nanda Parbat?” Dick replies, smiling as genuinely as he can. “It was for you, Damian. He’s already chosen you.” 

Something in Damian’s posture eases, and the little boy smiles—really smiles. Jason huffs out a laugh, standing and stretching. He’s still getting used to being free of the casts he’d been wearing since April. Dick is relieved to see the proof of his little brother’s recovery, slow as it is. It’s still painful to see the new scars against his freckled skin, and when Jason catches Dick staring at his forearm, where his shirt had ridden up, he just smiles and tugs the sleeve back down.

Dick doesn’t even hear Tim approaching them, so the hand on his shoulder startles him enough to make him jump. Tim smirks and waves them toward the stairs. Damian immediately moves to Tim’s side, checking to see if he’s alright. Not a moment later, Bruce rejoins the group with wet hair and pajamas. Without pause, he scoops Tim up—ignoring Tim’s audible protests—and leads the way upstairs. Dick and Jason both follow, laughing and teasing their brother, while Damian trails after them in stunned silence.

Bruce drops Tim off in his room, with strict instructions to stay in bed. Tim pouts but agrees under threat of not being allowed to keep up with all his plotting unless he actually gets some rest. Damian seems inclined to stay until Tim can personally give him his promised tour of the manor, but he waves his brothers off with a reassuring smile. Jason decides to show Damian around and help him get settled in, while Dick stays and watches over Tim. 

After all, he’s enough of a workaholic  _ not  _ to be trusted to actually rest when ordered to.

**

“Tim,  _ no.” _

“It’s a perfectly reasonable plan!” 

“You have pneumonia,” Dick says, crossing his arms as he stares at Tim from across the bedroom. “Why do you want to fight Lady Shiva in the first place? She’ll kill you!” 

“She  _ trained  _ me,” Tim argues, stubbornness bleeding through his tone. “She’s our best point of contact for finding Cass.” Dick’s jaw drops open, and Tim sighs. “What is it now?”

“Where was Bruce during all of that?”

“He sent me to train abroad. Shiva wound up taking me on as a student. She’s the one who taught me how to fight with a bo staff.” 

“You were alone?” Dick’s voice jumps up an octave. “Oh boy, I’ll...be right back.” Dick makes a quick exit, leaving Tim with the feeling he’s said something wrong. He’s just not sure what. Jason pokes his head into the room a few minutes later, looking confused.

“Dickie is shouting about how he wants to cross the multiverse to get into a fistfight with the old man. What’d you say to him?” 

“I just told him about my training,” Tim says with a huff. “It’s not a big deal, and besides, it’ll give us an advantage in finding Cass!” He sighs, irritated, but then he catches the look in Jason’s eyes. “Do you want to come in?” He asks, voice losing all heat.

Jason enters the room fully and moves nearer, resting his hip against the bed next to Tim’s feet. He smiles at him, a little hesitantly. Tim rolls his eyes and shifts over, so Jason can sit next to him and prop his feet up. Jason leans his head against Tim’s shoulder, and it’s a stark reminder that he’s older than Jason now. He thinks of Dick and how supportive he was when Tim first joined the Bats. It’s a nostalgia both warm and cruel.

“It’s the shouting, isn’t it?” Tim asks after a moment. He feels more than sees Jason nod in response. “Don’t worry Jay,” he says, keeping his voice soft and even. “Dick isn’t mad at anyone here. Neither is Bruce, for that matter. I know that doesn’t make it easier, but they’re just being protective.”

“Yeah,  _ they’re  _ really mad because  _ you  _ won’t be.” 

“Would you prefer my anger, then?” Tim asks. Jason’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. 

“Nope.  _ No way. _ You’re scary enough already,” he says, practically tripping over the words. Tim snorts, and Jason sticks his tongue out at him. “You could probably conquer the world, if you wanted to.” He wrinkles his nose, and the expression is so  _ painfully  _ young. “I’m not going to ever get on your bad side, Tim.” 

“Heh, wish I could say the same, Jay.” Tim’s expression twists into something wistful, and Jason lets out a soft, wounded sound. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be an—” 

“Hood seems pretty scary,” Jason interrupts quietly. Tim sighs and rests his cheek against the top of Jason’s head. Dark curls tickle his face, and he breathes in the citrus scent of his shampoo. He hums in acknowledgement, knowing Jason isn’t done talking, just yet. He’s always been one to verbalize his thought process. “I don’t want to be like him,” he finally whispers, shoulders shaking. Tim’s grip around his shoulders tightens.

“You won’t.” Jason scoffs at Tim’s reply, but Tim’s firm tone doesn’t waver. “Jason, listen to me. You have no idea just how  _ good  _ you are. You’re such a great kid, and I’m so proud to be your brother. You’re not going to turn out like Hood because you haven’t let yourself fall. You survived Joker, yes, but it’s more than that. You haven’t let what happened to you twist you, and that’s why I’m so sure you’re never going to become anything like him.”

“I just don’t want to hurt my family.”

“You’re not going to hurt them. Jay, please keep in mind that Hood isn’t...fully himself. The Lazarus Pit has some pretty nasty effects. He’s unstable from its influence, but you don’t have to worry about that.” 

“The Pit didn’t  _ create  _ him, though,” Jason argues. He sounds like he’s close to tears. Tim draws him closer, and Jason clings to him. “Unstable doesn’t mean monster, especially not one as bad as him.”

“I don’t think he’s a monster.”

“How? He tried to kill you three times! I don’t even understand how you can even look at  _ me  _ without freaking out.”

“You’re littler,” Tim teases.

“I’m still taller than you.”

“Regardless, I think I understand how he feels, to an extent. The trauma he went through pushed the human side of him into the shadows, until the mask is all that’s left.”

“Is that how you feel?” Jason asks, tilting his head up to meet Tim’s eyes. His expression is earnest and genuine, and it makes Tim’s heart ache. He nods.

“It’s easier, that way. A mask can’t feel pain. A mask is...useful, even when the person is too broken to function.”

“You’re more than what you can do for others, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re broken.”

“And you’re not a monster, Jay. You never will be.” 

They lapse into silence, each trying to believe the other. 


	9. Let Gravity Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Robin forms a team and a plan, but things go wrong once he encounters a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's update is a little shorter than usual, and for that I apologize! There was a minor emergency with my family this week, so things have been a bit hectic.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoy reading and have a lovely week ahead of you!

Jason feels out of place, in his new Robin uniform. It’s his first time back in the mask since Ethiopia, and he’s gotten a completely redesigned suit. He couldn’t bear to wear the old one—the one he’d nearly died in, the one which was always more Dick Grayson’s than his own. Red Robin stands at his side, a reassuring hand on his shoulder, as they survey the room full of young heroes. 

B had let them attend the first meeting of the team Red’s planning on building to ease them both back into the field. Red’s pneumonia still lingers in his lungs, but he’s regained some of his color and some of his lost weight. Jason’s grown stronger in the past few weeks, even if he’s nowhere near ready enough for a full return to the streets. He’s been restless, so he’s grateful B wanted Red to have someone with him. 

The cabin is one of Bruce’s safehouses outside Gotham’s city limits. It’s more of a mountain retreat—spacious enough to house all seven of them comfortably, and they’re currently gathered in the main room, sprawled out over couches circling a large fireplace. Red takes a breath, slow and rattling in his chest, and moves forward. He takes his place in front of the hearth, studying the teenagers in the room with a calculating eye. Robin takes a place next to Impulse, heart thudding in his chest. 

Red Robin has always cut an imposing figure, but standing there before them all, Robin understands why he was able to lead his own team from such a young age. A calm confidence straightens his spine, giving him a more commanding presence. The room falls silent within moments of him taking his position at the front of the room.

“Thank you for coming,” Red says. “I understand my request was vague, purposefully so, and as such, it took a leap of faith for you to join me today. To simplify a long explanation, I’ll say this: I’m from another part of the multiverse, which is how I knew to seek each of you out specifically. The heroes of this world are under threat of extinction by the League of Assassins, starting with Gotham. The League plans on utilizing a trafficking group with the capability to hop between universes at will. To what end, I don’t know, but I do intend on finding out. And believe me, I  _ will  _ stop them.” He pauses, gaze sweeping across the room. “Which is why I’d like your help.” 

“What do you want us to do?” Arrowette asks, folding her arms and crossing one leg over the other. “It sounds like you’ve already got a plan.”

“I do have a plan, a drastic one, admittedly. I’ve already taken steps to cripple the League of Assassins for now, but they still have the Circle hopping between worlds, gathering weaponry we won’t know how to fight against.” 

“If they have so much advanced tech, how can we fight against them?” Wonder Girl leans forward in her seat, raising a challenging brow at Red Robin.

“That’s where I come in,” Red explains. “I’ve been tracking the energy spikes the dimension jumping has been causing. I’m going to isolate that energy and use it to create a network, of sorts. It’ll allow for me to disable any foreign weaponry, if I can link them all to the same energy signature. In the meantime, we’ll work to whittle down the members of the Circle as much as possible. Their broader plan is still unknown, so we need to wait to properly strike until we know what they intend to do.”

“How can we help?” Secret asks. One hand reaches up to run over the pendant at her neck, an idle gesture. “I don’t want any of the heroes to get hurt.”

“We’ll use two methods of attack: reconnaissance and causing chaos. Arrowette and Secret, I’d like for the two of you to track down one of their bases, and if possible, capture one of their members for interrogation. Wonder Girl and Superboy, the two of you are our powerhouses. You’d be best suited for interrupting their operations before they can jump worlds. Impulse, your job is to warn the other members of the hero community. They need to be on their guard.” He takes a breath, and Robin wonders what’s going on inside his head. “I understand if you’d prefer to not get involved; however, I would sincerely appreciate the help.” 

“Does this mean Young Justice is making a comeback?” Impulse asks, practically vibrating with excitement. Red Robin nods, and Impulse cheers, jumping up from his seat and running a few laps around the room. “This is awesome!” He cheers, leaping into the air with a wide, practically manic, grin. 

Red Robin reaches into his utility belt and extracts several communicators. He passes one to each member of the newly-formed team and gives brief instructions. Robin can recognize them as modified Bat-comms, and he wonders when Red had the time to tinker with the little devices. He’s almost surprised when Red hands him one of the earpieces, but he keeps his reaction as subtle as he can. Red must notice, though, because he offers Robin an encouraging smile.

He also hands a USB drive to Arrowette and Superboy, loaded with all the information he’s been able to dig up on the Circle and their shadowy movements. He ends the formal meeting by extending an invitation to the group of teenagers to stay as long as they’d like in the cabin. It’ll serve as their temporary base. Red doesn’t seem to want to linger for long, though. He waves Robin over and asks if he’s ready to head back to the Cave shortly after the meeting devolves into typical chatter and banter. 

“We can take the long way back,” Red offers. “Fly a little.” Robin smiles and wraps his arms around Red, startling a laugh out of his older brother. 

“Thank you!” Robin chirps. “It’s been way too long since I’ve been able to do anything fun!”

They bid the others farewell and head off together, with Red’s arm slung around Robin’s shoulder and the younger boy chattering away in his excitement. 

It’s one of those rare clear nights in Gotham. The moon is bright overhead, and the city buzzes with noise and light. The air is warm as it rushes past Robin’s face with each swing from his grapple. He lets out a loud whoop, trailing behind Red as they wind their way through the streets. Robin watches as Red moves like silk in the shadows, graceful and elegant with an energy more subdued than Nightwing’s but no less beautiful to watch. 

Red lands on the roof of a cathedral, posture stiffening minutely. His fingers twitch in a signal to Robin:  _ stay hidden. _ Robin stays back, stopping on the rooftop directly across the street from the building Red is standing on, poised to strike at some unseen danger. Robin ducks behind an old, rattling air conditioning unit and watches with trepidation. A figure melts out of the darkness, stalking toward Red, who immediately draws his bo staff and drops into a defensive stance. Robin’s breath catches in his throat when the light from a nearby sign illuminates the figure’s features.

A red helmet, leather jacket, guns holstered at his sides, a dagger clutched in gloved hands.

“Hood,” Red says slowly, tone completely void of inflection. “How are you here?”

“Fuck, Replacement,” Hood says with a bark of mean-sounding laughter. “Can’t believe you actually fucked off to another fucking universe. Have the Bats kicked you out in this world here, yet? Or do you still have them tricked into thinking you’re worth a damn?” 

Robin bristles with white-hot anger. He wonders if his alternate self feels like this all the time, with the waters of the Lazarus Pit crawling through his veins. He wants to leap across the rooftops and throttle his alternate self, but from one look at the man, he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance. He hasn’t recovered enough yet to actually get tangled up in a fight. He grits his teeth and stays hidden, activating his emergency beacon, just in case things turn ugly.

“Ah,” Red says. “So you’re the Hood from my original universe. I’d say it’s nice to see you again, but honestly? It really isn’t. What do you want, Hood?” 

“Turns out you’ve pissed off a lot of powerful people, Replacement. I’m getting paid a pretty penny to wring your scrawny neck. Hell, I’d have done it for free, but I wasn’t about to turn down that kind of money.” He flips the knife in his hand deftly, and Red’s shoulders tense.

“The Circle hired you.” It isn’t a question, but Hood snorts and nods.

“Pretentious fuck,” he says. “God, how did you  _ ever  _ think  _ anyone  _ could stand you?” 

Red doesn’t reply, and Hood chuckles, stalking forward with his knife ready to slice ribbons out of his skin. Red moves to intercept the strike and disarm him, but at the last second, Hood draws a gun and fires. The bullet hits his thigh, and Red goes down with a strangled cry. Hood laughs again, a cold, ugly sound, and he moves forward to step on the wound, grinding his heavy boot down against Red’s leg. 

Red screams, and Robin nearly abandons his hiding spot in an instant. He makes eye contact with Red, who shakes his head. It’s a slight motion, barely there, but it’s enough to make Robin freeze. Hood is going to kill him, but Red doesn’t want to get him involved. He isn’t at his best after months of recovery and no training, but he still finds himself struggling to stay put. He hasn’t felt this helpless since Ethiopia. Red doesn’t keep his eyes on Robin for long, trying desperately to keep Hood’s attention away from him.

“Tell me something,” Red says through gritted teeth. Hood aims a kick for his ribs, and he lets out a strained wheeze, curling in on himself. “Are you planning on hurting this world’s Bats? Or my alternate self?” Hood hums thoughtfully, stalking around Red’s prone form as he tries to struggle to his feet. Hood smoothly draws his blade again and sinks it between Red’s shoulder blades. 

“It would be fun; wouldn’t it? I could hunt them down one by one, kill them slowly. Make a show of it. But I’d be willing to make a deal for their lives, Replacement.”

“Name your terms,” Red growls. 

“Well,” Hood drawls. “I’m already going to kill you, so that’s off the table. It’s a given, a done-deal. No way out of that one, but I won’t kill the other Bats if  _ your  _ death is entertaining enough.” 

A low sigh. Robin’s heart leaps to his throat. 

“Fine,” Red says, sounding broken, the way he did when he first arrived in their world. “Do what you want, Hood. It doesn’t matter. Just...don’t hurt them.” 

Hood crouches down and lightly drags his knife against Red’s throat, cooing mockingly when Red tilts his head back to give him better access. Robin feels sick. He wants to scream and cry and run and protect. All he can do is watch in stricken horror as the blade comes down again and digs into his brother’s stomach. Hood cackles, a manic laugh brimming with malice, warped by the vocal modulators in his helmet. 

“I want to see the light go out of your eyes, Replacement.”

“Not  _ fucking  _ likely!” A new voice shouts, enraged. Nightwing swoops down out of nowhere and drags Hood off of Red’s prone form. Batman emerges from the shadows mere seconds later, joining the fray with a ferocity Robin has never seen from him before. Robin takes his chance and leaps between the rooftops, scrambling to his brother’s side.

“Get him out of here!” Nightwing calls over his shoulder, teeth bared in a snarl as he and Batman fight the Red Hood. “The Batmobile is a few blocks south. We’ve got things handled, here.” 

Robin scoops up Red’s limp body, mindful of his injuries, and makes his way down to street-level and toward the Batmobile. He’s not even sure if Red is breathing, but he refuses to think about it until they’re out of danger. The car comes into his line of sight, and he nearly sobs in relief. He lays Red down in the backseat and sets a course for home. 

“Agent A?” He calls out, voice shaking almost as badly as his hands. Alfred’s smooth voice filters over the comm link a moment later, asking what had happened. Robin fills him in around stuttering syllables and a leaden feeling against his lungs. “He’s hurt really badly, A. He was just going to let him—” He breaks off with a choked cry, fingers fumbling at the edges of his mask. He peels it off his face and tosses it onto the passenger seat, burying his face into his hands and letting the tears flow freely. 

He pulls himself together long enough to help Alfred stabilize Tim, once they get back to the Cave and rush the unconscious boy into the medbay. He maintains his composure long enough to give Bruce his report, once he and Nightwing come back bloodied, with grim faces and an escaped Red Hood on the loose. He lets himself shatter once he’s alone in his room, sent up for rest which won’t come. He shakes and cries until he feels hollow, like all his insides have been scooped out and served in an ice cream bowl. His chest and throat hurt from crying so hard, and he’s shuddering hard. 

The Red Hood. 

Jason Todd.

  
_ Monster. _


	10. Reckless, He Fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys wouldn't know a good idea if it hit them in the face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a shorter chapter. Life is still insane, and I'm just about to start my final semester before I can graduate with my mechanical engineering degree (why did I do that to myself??). I'm hoping to keep up with my current updating schedule, but if I do wind up missing a Sunday update, you can expect the next chapter the following Wednesday, after which I'll switch to updating every week and a half. Again, hopefully that won't happen, but life is chaotic sometimes!
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely week ahead of you!

Dick yawns, rubbing at one eye as he leans back, stretching his back out. His bed is comfortable, but hunched over his laptop as he is, he feels his bones creak and ache. The red thumb drive Tim has on the Red Hood has proven invaluable, and it’s allowed him to slowly start eliminating Hood’s most likely hideouts from the extensive list of addresses. 

He hasn’t slept since the attack. He’s exhausted, but he’s determined to keep looking. He owes it to Tim, to keep him safe from the monster who crawled through the gaps between worlds to hurt him. A knock on his door shakes him from his thoughts, and he looks up blearily, giving permission for whoever it is to enter his room. Damian pokes his head through the door, all wide eyes and baby fat in his face, and Dick can’t help but smile. This boy is a far cry from the one Tim’s files describe. He’s glad they got to him before the League was able to tear out that softness. 

Dick waves Damian over, grinning as he shuffles closer, a warm blanket wrapped around him like a cape. Damian clambers up onto the bed next to him and curls into his side, leaning his head against Dick’s ribs. Dick drapes an arm over the kid’s shoulders, drawing him close. He glances at the clock on his nightstand, surprised at how late it’s gotten. 

“Hi there, kiddo,” he murmurs. “What are you doing up?”

“Nightmare,” Damian grumbles. “Jason is asleep, and Father is down in the medbay with Timothy, still. You’re still awake, so I decided to stay here.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asks, and Damian shakes his head, snuggling closer, instead. “That’s fine. I can keep quiet if you’d like to get more rest, or we can talk about something else, to take your mind off it.” 

“I’m tired,” Damian mumbles. “You need rest, too.” 

“You’re probably right about that, Damian,” Dick says with a sigh. He drags a hand through his hair, and Damian’s short arms wrap around his waist. Silence settles over the room for a long moment, resting against his skin and the shadows on the walls. 

“Why did Timothy allow the Red Hood to attack him?” Damian finally asks, voice small and frightened. “He took on my grandfather without batting an eye, yet he refuses to defend himself against the Red Hood? It makes no sense.”

“He was protecting Jay,” Dick replies. “Stupid, noble,  _ wonderful  _ kid.” His chest aches. Dick leans back, pulling Damian with him as he rests against the pile of pillows propped up against the headboard. “But he’ll be okay, and we’re going to catch Hood, and you won’t have to worry.”

Damian grumbles a little, shifting until he’s comfortably resting against Dick’s side. He lets out a little yawn, eyes slipping shut. Dick waits until Damian’s settled back into sleep before he drags his laptop back to him and continues working. Hood is a Bat, though, and he knows all their tricks. He’s going to be nearly impossible to track down without some help. 

Dick chews on his bottom lip as an idea comes to him. It’s stupid, reckless, and all around a very,  _ very terrible _ idea, but it would probably work. Days of no progress weigh on his shoulders as he debates his options. Finally, he forces himself to stop thinking and sends a text message to a number he thought he’d never need to contact.

_ I’m calling in that favor. _

The phone rings a few moments later, unsurprisingly. He’s glad the phone is on silent, as he slowly extricates himself from Damian without waking him, crossing the room and going into the dark hallway outside. He shuts the door as quietly as possible before he answers the phone. He takes a breath to steady himself and answers the call.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

“Yeah,” Dick says with a low, frustrated sigh. “I honestly never thought I’d actually ask  _ you  _ for help.” 

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. What made you stoop so low, kid?”

“Unfortunately for you, nothing ignoble. But I do need you to track someone down.”

“Hm, a Bat is having a hard time finding someone? Must be good, to slip through your fingers, kid.” 

“Long story,” Dick grumbles. He meanders toward the stairs and hops up onto the level section of the bannister, balancing easily. He paces back and forth to ease the anxiety curling around his heart. “Are you going to help or not?” There’s a lengthy pause, followed by a low chuckle.

“Sure, I could use a challenge.” 

“I’ll send you the files,” Dick says, turning over to balance on one hand. “If you can find him and bring him to me, I’ll consider us even.”

“I’m assuming you’d prefer the target alive?” 

“Begrudgingly, yes.” Dick hears a disbelieving snort over the line and grins to himself. 

“Knew you had it in you, kid.” 

“Oh, fuck off. You’ve known that for years. No need to sound so smug about it. Hood’s an asshole, and I certainly won’t complain if you don’t deliver him unharmed.” 

A flash of shame burns through him, but Dick pushes it aside. Hood has a lot to answer for. If a deal with the devil is what it takes to bring him down, well, Dick isn’t going to have any qualms over the stain on his soul. He twists, setting one foot back on the bannister and slowly righting himself. 

“Send the files. I’ll be in touch.” 

“Will do. Happy hunting, Slade.” 

He hangs up and hops off the bannister, landing lightly on his feet. When Bruce finds out about this deal with Deathstroke, he might just strangle him, but Dick doesn’t regret cashing in his favor over this problem. He feels lighter, somehow, not weighed down by the desperate need to keep searching until he either finds his answer or collapses. Guilt nags at the back of his mind, but it pales in comparison to the sweeping relief flooding his veins. 

Dick makes his way back to his room and pulls his little brother close, finally answering the alluring call of sleep, letting the warm beckoning of darkness to draw him under. He’ll deal with Bruce later. That’s a problem for future-Dick.

**

This is  _ such  _ a bad idea. 

Jason’s hands shake as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop. This might be on par with running away to Ethiopia in terms of bad ideas, but he pushes himself to keep going. He’s dressed in civvies, too worried about running into Bruce to go down to the Cave for his uniform. He scrambles up and down fire escapes, trying to be as careful as he can in his toward Crime Alley. He’s driven by blind need. He has to find this nightmare masquerading with his face.

Finally, he finds the dilapidated apartment building he lived in for the first ten years of his life. He takes a moment to catch his breath, glancing around for any shift in the shadows. 

There.

The Red Hood emerges from the darkness and lands on the roof, scattering pebbles and sending an empty beer bottle rolling away from the toes of his boots. Jason squares his shoulders and glares at the man looming over him. 

“You don’t need to bother with the helmet,” Jason says, folding his arms. “I already know your identity, fuck face.”

“It’s your face too, brat.” Despite the insult, he takes off the helmet and secures it to his belt, staring at Jason with eerily green eyes. “What do you want? Gonna try to bring me in, right to Daddy Bats?” 

“Fuck no,” Jason says, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not an idiot. You took on Big Wing and B by yourself.”

“Then I’ll repeat myself: why are you here?” 

“Tim’s files say you don’t hurt kids,” Jason replies. “Well...most of the time.  _ He’s  _ still a kid, but you’re hell-bent on killing him. To answer your question, I’m here for Tim. For myself, too, if I’m being honest. I needed to see what kind of monster I could’ve become. What I need to make sure I  _ never  _ wind up becoming.” 

“Cute,” Hood says flatly. “I see you’re still an idealistic, willfully ignorant fool. Judging by the white in your hair, you’ve already seen what kind of evil  _ scum  _ B is willing to let walk the earth. How can you still trust him, after that?” 

“He’s doing what he can to keep people safe,” Jason says fiercely. “And he cares about me. That’s what matters. He’s a far better person than you could ever even dream of being. I can’t believe a version of me exists out there who’s willing to kill people—including an innocent kid—for some petty grudge. You’re  _ pathetic, _ Hood. ” 

“Tim Drake is no innocent,” Hood snarls. “He’s a pathetic parasite. My replacement,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Bruce tossed away the gutter trash for the shiny new model. Too bad he’s a weak, undeserving, pitiful excuse for a Robin. Guess that’s why he got replaced too, in the end.”

  
“Right,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “Like you didn’t replace Dick, first? Tim said the Lazarus Pit fucked you up, but my  _ God, _ you’re just so full of shit. It’s not an excuse. You’re not brain-dead enough to not know right from wrong, yeah? So what the fuck is wrong with you, asshole?” 

“I’m just doing what’s best for the people of Gotham. Cleaning up the messes B leaves behind. You wouldn’t understand. How could you? You don’t know  _ anything  _ about what it was like for me.” 

“That’s not good enough,” Jason spits. It’s probably not a great idea to yell at the guy who nearly murdered his older brother, but his control over his temper is slipping. He feels like his brain has moved somewhere close to his left shoulder, lining up with his heart but leaving his head feeling stuffed full of cotton and hot air. “You’re all the worst parts of us, Hood, and the most awful thing about it all is that you don’t care.” He turns away, eyes hot. “This is pointless. You’re selfish and senseless, and I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make you understand just how wrong you are about everything in our lives. I’m leaving.”

“Your wings will get clipped eventually, little birdie,” Hood calls after him, tone mocking. Jason ignores him, but the cold feeling at his fingertips doesn’t go away. He refuses to give Hood the satisfaction of seeing him fall to pieces. 

He sneaks back through his bedroom window and changes back into his pajamas. Jason feels rattled enough to seek out the best source of comfort he can think of. He makes his way down to the Cave and sits down in the chair next to Bruce. Jason knows Bruce will be able to smell the city on him, and he wonders whether or not he’ll assume the acrid tang of cigarettes is wafting out from Jason’s own lungs. Bruce doesn’t make any sort of comment on the matter, but he wraps an arm around his son and pulls him closer, sensing his mood. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Jay-lad?” 

Jason glances at Tim, still unconscious, looking too small, too frail, and he shrugs. He leans his head against Bruce’s shoulder and takes Tim’s hand in his own.

“I’m scared,” he finally says, barely more than a whisper. Bruce’s expression softens, but the edges are still rigid with guilt.

“A few months ago, I was scared you were headed down a dark path,” he admits. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel as though I cared any less for you. You’re such a good kid, Jay, and I can’t ever properly express how grateful I am for you.” He pauses, and Jason thinks he’s probably realized just where Jason had snuck off to. “You’re already a far better person than he is, son. You recognize what he’s doing as wrong, and that makes all the difference.”

“I just…” Jason hesitates, the tears finally spilling over and drawing thin trails down his face. “He hurts the people who love him the most. I don’t ever want to cause that kind of pain for you, or Alfie, or Dickie, or Timmy, or Babs, or Damian…” He breaks off with a sniffle, turning to press his face against Bruce’s shirt. “I hate it. I hate thinking I could’ve been him, if things were different. Fuck, B, I’m so glad you made it to me in time.” 

He can’t stop the tears, now, but Bruce holds him through the outburst of emotion. Bruce is warm and steadfast, and Jason feels so small and breakable, like a gust of wind could shatter him into pieces. He lets his dad keep him together, trusting him to hold his head above water until he’s strong enough to stand on his own again. 

Jason lets himself sink, but he knows he won’t drown—not with Bruce at his side. 

Maybe things will be better in the morning. 


	11. Dawning Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim wakes up and starts dealing with the aftermath of his brothers' reckless plans.

Tim’s brain is fuzzy, and his body is  _ ouch. _ He vaguely remembers terror and pain and...red. He lingers on that thought, confused as he tries to piece together the hazy images and emotions whirling around in his head. The shade of red he sees behind his eyelids is too light to be a vision of blood, but Tim sees it and thinks of death. It takes him a long moment to recall why it sings of danger, but when he draws up the mental image of a gleaming helmet and soulless white eyes, he bolts upright with a cry. 

“Easy there, son,” a voice says from his left. Tim looks with wild eyes and sees Bruce at his bedside, with Jason asleep against his shoulder. “You’re safe.”

“None of us is safe,” Tim says with a voice raspy from sleep and screaming. “Not while he’s here—not while he’s after me.” He sighs, running a hand through his mussed hair. “Shit, this is bad.” 

“We’ll find a way to handle it,” Bruce soothes. “Also, watch your language, before Alfred hears you and makes you put money in the swear jar.” His expression softens, and he reaches out to put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Tim.” 

“He’s after  _ me,” _ Tim says, a bit desperately. “You guys don’t need to get involved.”

“Not happening,” a new voice says. Dick enters the medbay, smiling at him easily, but there’s something behind the expression which sets Tim on edge.

“What did you do?” Tim asks, tilting his head to the side to study him. Dick freezes, his smile slipping just enough to send a chill down Tim’s spine.

“I called in a favor,” Dick says evenly. Bruce’s head snaps up, and he fixes a glare on his eldest son’s face. “Geez B, relax a little?”

“You’re being reckless,” Bruce says, eyebrows furrowed. He frowns, and Dick rolls his eyes, crossing the room to sit at the foot of Tim’s bed. “Surely you realize I don’t approve?” Tim studies father and son, and after a moment of categorizing body language and microexpressions, he comes to a realization.

“You didn’t,” he blurts out. “Dick, what the hell?” Dick gapes at him, probably surprised Tim’s guessed what he’s done. Tim presses his palms over his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. “Of all the stupid ideas…”

“You want to talk about stupid ideas?” Dick asks, frowning. “How about the stunt you pulled? You were just going to let Hood kill you—throw your life away like it means nothing!” He tosses his hands into the air, and Tim scowls.

“Better me than any of you,” he snaps, folding his arms over his aching chest defensively. “But you’re needlessly inviting danger into the situation.”

“Well, it’s not like I can take him down alone. Even with B and me fighting him, Hood had the upper hand. We need an edge,” Dick argues back.

“So you decide your best option is Deathstroke? Dick, don’t be an idiot. It’s not worth it.”

“What, your life?” Dick stands up, a thunderous expression darkening his features. Tim glares back, cold rage turning his blood to ice. He remembers the last time he’d argued with Dick like this, and all the old hurts resurface, bubbling over from the box he’d shoved them in and subsequently ignored in the months since. 

“Obviously! I’d give my life for any of yours in a heartbeat! Why does it matter so much?” His chest heaves, sending pain lancing through his ribs as he struggles to regain his breath and composure. “I don’t matter. This world already has a Tim Drake, and my world doesn’t give a damn about theirs, so  _ why do you care?” _ The anger drains away, leaving a crushing emptiness in its wake. He slumps back against the pillows, staring down at his hands in his lap. “I just want things to make sense again. I mean, things back in my universe sucked, but at least I’d gotten used to being the replaceable one no one actually gives a shit about. I don’t understand any of you.” 

Dick sits back down, nudging Tim gently, so he can sit down next to him, shoulders brushing. The fury in his eyes has given way to grief, a raw emotion Tim can’t bring himself to look at for more than a moment. He glances over to Bruce and Jason, and with a grimace, he realizes the argument must’ve woken the latter. Jason blinks up at Tim, offering him a tired smile—too weary for such a young face. Jason reaches a hand out, and Tim takes it in his own. He leans his head against Dick’s shoulder, still feeling off-balance. 

“You called in Deathstroke,” Bruce says, too casually to be anything but the precursor to a lecture.

“Slade’s willing to get his hands dirty,” Dick says with a shrug. “He won’t kill Hood, but he stands a better chance against him than we do.”

“He’s right,” Jason murmurs. “Dickie, you and B haven’t gone through half the shit the guys from Tim’s world have. We’re all years behind those versions of us, and the bad things haven’t had a chance to harden you guys, yet. He’s brutal, and he’s willing to kill—not to mention the crazy, intense training he had. As much as I hate the idea of Deathstroke getting close to you again, Dick, I think he’s probably the best chance we’ve got at catching the guy.” 

“Hood can go toe-to-toe with Deathstroke,” Tim says softly. “It’ll be a tough job, even for him. If he fails, you’ll all get caught in the crossfire. I don’t know whether or not I’ll be able to live with myself, if that happens.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dick says, rubbing slow circles against Tim’s shoulder. “We’ve got it covered. Why don’t you check in with Young Justice to see how their missions are going and let us handle Hood, okay?” 

“The Circle hired him to kill me. What does that mean for the League’s plan, as a whole?” Tim replies, frowning. “Could one of you get me my laptop and phone, please?” Jason nods and hops up, moving toward the manor proper. “Could they have known Hood would be the best opponent to throw me off?” He chews on a fingernail. “That could explain one aspect of the multiverse travel, at least. Find the people best capable of killing us, the people most likely to rattle us.” 

“That’s a terrifying thought,” Dick says. “Thanks for that, Tim.” 

Jason returns a few minutes later, with Tim’s laptop tucked under one arm. He hands over the cell phone and computer, and Tim immediately gets to work, immediately letting himself get absorbed in the case. His surroundings fade away as he checks in with his teammates. Kon and Cassie have broken up a few arms deals, but they haven’t made much progress with any big trades, yet. Bart has already warned all the heroes he can access, and he’s currently trying to reach those off-world and otherwise out of touch. 

Cissie and Greta have had the most success. They’ve managed to track down one of the Circle’s bases, and they’ve marked one of the lower-level footmen for interrogation. They’re working on catching him, but they’ve made progress. He types out a few messages to his teammates and collects the scraps of data they’ve gathered, working to decipher any meaning from random patterns of energy readings and locations. 

He opens the files for Contingency Plan: Lima Romeo, a primitive version of the hit-list he’s been drafting, mostly focused on the Bats themselves. He scrolls through pages and pages of text, listing out strengths and weaknesses and strategies for taking down his own family. He’s not sure who exactly he’ll be facing, in the end, but if his future self has called for this particular protocol, he can safely assume some alternate versions of themselves will be joining the fray. 

He wonders if the version of himself from the Titans Tomorrow will be making an appearance. Tim pushes the thought aside and works on compiling a list of the weapons the Circle has brought into this world without selling them off—tools for the League’s use, he’s certain. Tim drums his fingers against the body of his laptop and types out a message to a number he knows Dick will not be pleased with him contacting. A moment later, his phone buzzes with an incoming call. He answers and presses the phone up to his ear, still typing with one hand.

“Who the fuck is this, and how the fuck did you get this number,” Slade growls. Tim lets out a mirthless chuckle. He and Deathstroke have had their scuffles before, and he’s managed to earn the man’s respect. He hopes he’ll be able to do the same, now.

“Hello Slade,” he greets calmly, pointedly ignoring the scandalized looks from the others in the room. “My brother cashed in a favor with you. I thought you’d like some more information on the Red Hood and the weaponry he’s most likely carrying with him.”

“Ah, another Bat? You don’t sound like Robin,” Slade replies, sounding amused. Tim snorts. 

“You’re correct on both assumptions. Call me Red Robin. I’m assuming Dick already sent you the files I’ve compiled on Hood?” He waits for Slade’s affirmative hum before he continues speaking. “Excellent. There are a few notes missing from that file which I’ll send to you shortly, and I have an idea of which of the trafficked weapons at his disposal he’ll choose.” He glances over his last resort contingency, adjusting a few of the plans to account for Slade’s skillset.

He hangs up the phone and grins at his assembled family members. Dick looks scandalized, while Jason’s expression is somewhere closer to awe. Bruce just looks tired—probably regretting adopting children. 

“What did you just do?” Bruce asks, after a long moment of prolonged silence. Tim’s grin grows more wolfish.

“Gave intel to a dangerous mercenary. Hope that’s not a problem, B.” 

“I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“I do,” Dick says brightly. “Stop orchestrating the showdown of the century and get some rest, Tim!” He raises a brow at his little brother, who just blinks up at him innocently. “Nope, don’t give me that look. You need to be stopped, you little gremlin.” He ruffles Tim’s hair, receiving a halfhearted swat in return. “You need to let yourself heal from this latest catastrophe before—”

“It was more like an unfortunate mishap,” Tim grumbles. Dick rolls his eyes.

“As I was saying, you need to get your strength back before you’re going to be able to get back to the field. I know the Circle and the League are posing a pretty big threat, but you’re just as competent—and terrifying—when you’re strategizing as you are when you’re fighting. Let us do the heavy lifting for a little bit, okay?” 

“You’re not taking me off the case?” Tim asks, a skeptical, worried glint creeping into his eyes. Dick’s expression crumples a little before softening into a fond, yet sad, smile. 

“Of course not. Tim, you’re benched from field work because you’re hurt, but we’re not going to keep you out of the loop or anything. Your team is under your command, after all, and we trust you to be able to lead them well.”

Tim smiles, a wobbly, uncertain little thing. He nods at Dick and turns to Bruce for confirmation, just to be completely sure he’ll be allowed to do his part in keeping his friends and family safe. Bruce’s nod sends a rush of relief through him, and he slumps like a puppet with cut strings, boneless and exhausted. 

Dick tries to pry the laptop from Tim’s grip, but Tim refuses to let it go. He threatens to bite his brother at one point, which sends Jason into a fit of giggles. Dick tries to argue with him, but Bruce stops him with a slight shake of his head. He probably knows this isn’t a battle any of them are likely to win. Tim grins triumphantly, crowing with laughter even as he fights to keep his eyes open. 

“I’m going to go upstairs for some rest,” Bruce says, smiling fondly at the boys. “You boys should get to sleep soon, too.”

“I’m going to stay down here,” Jason says, voice quiet and unsure. “If that’s okay?” 

“Of course it’s okay, Jay-lad. Just try not to stay up too late, alright?” Jason nods, and Bruce gives both Tim and Jason hugs. Dick stands to join him in leaving the medbay. Bruce slings an arm around his eldest’s shoulders as he leads them to the stairs. 

Once they’re alone, Tim fixes Jason with a knowing look and pats the space on the mattress next to him. Jason moves from the chair to the bed, sheepishly shuffling closer to his side. Tim pulls him close and tucks the blanket over him. Jason snuggles close, expression conflicted, and Tim understands where his mind is at. He can smell the city on his brother’s clothes, and he knows why he seems so rattled, so fragile. 

“You found him. Didn’t you?” Tim feels rather than sees Jason’s nod, and he lets out a soft sigh, pressing his cheek against the top of Jason’s curly hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just want to forget about it, honestly,” Jason replies softly. 

“I wish I could fix it for you.”

“I could say the same for you, and I bet literally everyone else in our family would, too.” 

“Yeah?” Tim smiles and presses a kiss to his little brother’s temple. “Man, I really love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Jason mumbles against his shoulder. “So promise you won’t do anything stupid like that again, okay? You really scared me. I thought he was going to kill you, and I couldn’t do anything to stop him. It was...yeah. It was scary.” 

“I’ll try my best,” Tim offers. “But I can’t promise you I won’t do everything I possibly can to protect you. I’ll always put you first, Jay.” 

“Dumbass.”

“Brat.” 

Tim expects Jason to retort, but he just closes his eyes and relaxes against Tim’s side. It’s a stark contrast to Tim’s last interaction with a version of Jason Todd, but it’s nice—peaceful. He turns down the brightness on his laptop and gets back to work, careful not to wake his little brother as he sleeps.


	12. A Proper Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has met many alternate versions of people he's loved and lost, but this time is different

Tim types, the glow of his laptop the only light illuminating the medbay. Jason snores lightly against his shoulder. He types out a message to Kon, smiling at the stupid conversation their strategizing had devolved into. The buzz of an incoming call startles Tim out of his thoughts. He answers without checking the caller ID, and he’s greeted by a familiar voice. 

“Little Brother?”

His breath catches in his throat. 

_ “Cass?”  _ He can't believe his own ears. Bruce had told him Lady Shiva hadn’t had any children in this world, so hearing his sister’s voice blindsides him in the best way possible.

_ “Your _ Cass,” she confirms. He can hear the smile in her words. 

“You’re here,” Tim says, stomach swooping. He vaguely wonders if he’s fallen asleep at his laptop and slipped into a dream without even realizing it. “How?  _ Why?”  _

“Circle wants me to kill you. They saw my parents, not me. I let them, so they would bring me here. Missed you.”

“You came here for me?” His eyes burn, and Tim blinks a few times, chasing the tears away.

“Mhm,” Cass murmurs. Tim hears a rush of wind from the other end of the line, and he wonders where she is. “You found trouble, Little Brother.” He can picture her, wry smile gracing her face as she moves through the city. Her tone is a mix of accusatory and teasing, and Tim  _ aches  _ at the sound. He feels homesick—the only kind of homesick he’s ever known—not a longing for a place but for the people who should be there.

“Where are you? I can go meet you.” He closes his laptop and scrambles to his feet, careful not to wake Jason. “Ow, shit, that was a bad idea,” he grumbles, wincing at the pain in his leg. Cass makes an inquisitive sound, and Tim lets out a nervous laugh. “I kind of forgot that Hood shot me. Whoops.” He sits back down on the bed with a grimace.

“Stay,” Cass chides him. “Where are you?”

“The manor—well, technically, the Cave,” Tim replies. He laughs a little. “Weird, right? The other Bats here are really different. I think you’ll like them.” Cass hums, and the line goes quiet. She doesn’t hang up, though, and Tim is grateful. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to believe she’s really here until he sees her with his own eyes. 

Soon enough, a lone figure emerges from one of the hidden entrances to the Cave, moving toward him on silent feet. Cass rushes over and pulls Tim into a tight hug, and suddenly, the world feels a little brighter. She leans back and puts her hands on his cheeks, studying his face carefully. Her smile widens, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders. 

“You seem settled,” she says, resting a hand against his chest, over his heart. Her other hand taps at his temple. “Still healing, but...” She tilts her head to the side, searching for the right words. “Hm, still healing but better.” She glances over his shoulder, to Jason, still asleep behind Tim. “They’re good for you.” 

“They’re just good,” Tim says with a smile. He tugs the blanket up to cover Jason, pausing for a moment to ruffle his hair. “They’re happier here than they are in our world. I’d like to keep them that way.” 

“And you, too,” Cass says, folding her arms and fixing him with a stern look. Tim sighs, running a hand over his face. He wants to argue with her, because he really doesn’t think he’s going to be able to cling to this happiness for much longer, but he knows how protective she is over him. Protective enough to hop universes, apparently. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” is what he settles on saying. Cass seems to understand the words bubbling in the back of his throat, trapped behind his teeth. She sits next to him and takes his hand. They stay together in the quiet for a long moment, until the boy bundled underneath the blanket behind them starts to stir. 

Jason grumbles a bit as he sits up, rubbing one eye and yawning loudly. His curly hair sticks up in all directions, wild as his temperament. He catches sight of Tim and Cass and frowns sleepily at them. 

“Isn’t that your really scary, super awesome sister?” Jason mumbles, voice bogged down by drowsiness. Cass lets out an inelegant laugh, smiling warmly at Jason. Tim wraps an arm around her shoulders and nods. “Cool,” Jason says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Cass parrots back. She leans against Tim, resting her head against his. “You’re taking care of Tim. I’m glad.” She studies him for a moment, and Jason shifts under the weight of her scrutiny. The fond look in her dark eyes doesn’t dissipate, though. “You’re a good kid,” she finally says. Jason’s expression brightens.

“Thanks!”

“He really is,” Tim adds. “He’s done a lot to make me feel welcome here.” He and Cass exchange a look, full of both relief and sadness. It hurts to see what Jason Todd could’ve been—should’ve been—in their world. Tim nudges her shoulder. “Told you that you’d like them.” 

“They haven’t hurt you,” Cass says with a frown. “Advantage.” Tim cringes a little, sheepish.

“You, uh, heard about that?” He sighs, shoulders slumping, and Cass takes his hand again. Jason reaches out and links elbows with him, offering his support, too. “Sorry Cass. I should’ve told you myself—shouldn’t have taken so many stupid risks. I didn’t mean to get tangled up with Ra’s al Ghul, of all people. He was just the only one who believed me. Dick didn’t realize it, but he convinced practically everyone in the hero community that I’m a basket-case. I couldn’t stay in Gotham—not after losing Robin, and Bruce needed someone to find him. The lines got so blurry.”

“Shush,” Cass says, tone exasperated but gentle. “Worried, not mad. Not at you.” 

“Welcome to the club,” Jason pipes up. “We’re thinking of calling ourselves the  _ Tim Drake Protection Squad.” _ He wrinkles his nose as he continues to talk. “Well, Dick thinks we should be the  _ Give Tim the Love and Affection He Deserves Group, _ but I don’t think that sounds as good.” 

Cass laughs and ruffles Jason’s already messy hair. He lets out an indignant squawk, dodging out of the way, but he dissolves into peals of laughter when Tim tugs him back, trapping his arms in a hug. The noise they’re making masks the sound of footsteps heading down the stairs toward the Cave, and they’re only interrupted when a cough from the doorway catches their attention. 

“Oh,” Tim says. “Hey Dick! Cass is here. Can I head upstairs for breakfast today? I know I should stay down in the medbay for a little bit longer, but I want to introduce her to the others.” 

Dick sighs, a long-suffering sound, and Tim grins at him innocently. He agrees, but only under the condition of Tim not walking and straining his injuries. Tim only has enough time to nod before Dick scoops him up and makes his way back to the manor. Jason and Cass trail after them, laughing at Tim’s disgruntled protests. He’s set down at the dining table, and he sticks his tongue out at his older brother, feigning annoyance. Cass takes the seat next to him, studying the others in the room with her deeply perceptive gaze. After a moment, she nods, like she’s come to a decision.

“Home,” she says to Tim. He raises a brow at her, and she smiles, patient as always. “Here, with them. Home.”

Damian watches her with wide, wary eyes, and Bruce looks caught off-guard at her sudden appearance in his home. Alfred doesn’t even seem fazed, offering her a polite hello and some breakfast. Bruce sighs and takes a long sip of his coffee. 

“Cassandra,” he greets, after he takes a moment to process. “It’s nice to meet you. Tim speaks highly of you.”

“Thank you for caring for him,” Cass says. “Life has been kinder to you in this world. Tim deserves that.”

“He’s been through more than any kid should ever have to,” Bruce agrees, as though Tim weren’t sitting in the same room. “I fully intend on keeping him from suffering any more. He’s welcome to stay here indefinitely, and you are as well, of course.” He smiles at her. “It’s clear from what he’s told us how much he cares for his sister.” 

“Wait,” Tim interrupts. “I...you want me to stay?” His mouth twists, not knowing what expression to settle on. “Like stay for real?”

“Obviously,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “You’re ours now—no take-backs or returns.” 

“You’re family, Tim,” Dick says, elbowing Jason in the ribs as he speaks. Jason retaliates by pinching his side, but the squabble is stopped before it can really begin with a stern look from Alfred. “Do you want to stay with us? And before you answer, ignore all the responsibilities and work stuff you’ve got going on. Just think about what you want.” 

“It’s not that simple.” Tim drums his fingers against the table, avoiding everyone’s eyes. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, wincing at the twinge in his sore ribs. “You guys have been nothing but kind to me, but you’ll realize eventually that I’m not the kind of person people actually want to keep around.” He sighs, and Cass settles a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently in a silent show of support. “It always happens. Either that, or I get the people I love killed. You’d be better off with me just leaving.” 

“Tim,” Bruce says sternly. He finally looks up, meeting the intense look in Bruce’s eyes, and he chews on his lip, waiting for the rebuke. “We all want you to be happy. You’re a wonderful kid, and we’d be lucky to have you stay with us. We absolutely want you here, and we want you for  _ you, _ not for what you can do for us. That’s not going to change, and I know you might not believe that just yet, but I’d like for you to give it a chance, if you’d like to.” 

“That sounds nice,” Tim says, voice choked. “I’m not used to nice things happening. I want to believe you, but I don’t think I can lose all of you again.” 

“You won’t have to.” 

“We love you, Tim,” Dick says, stricken. 

“You’re my favorite big brother,” Jason says, cackling at Dick’s betrayed look. “But seriously, you’re awesome, and I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I want you to stay, too,” Damian adds, and the wonder in his big green eyes makes Tim soften.

“I’ll be with you, wherever you go,” Cass says. “Always.” 

Something in Tim’s heart cracks, and tears start to streak down his face. His breath comes with wracking sobs, and Cass wraps her arm around him. Bruce gets up from his spot at the table to kneel down next to Tim’s chair, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks with gentle motions. Tim’s mind screams at him, but he focuses on what Dick had said, about ignoring his unfinished business and figuring out what he wants. His heart knows. It’s probably known for a long time now, but he finally lets himself acknowledge it. Tim meets Bruce’s concerned eyes and offers him a wobbly smile. 

“I want to stay with you.” 


	13. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Tim discuss Tim's contingency plans, and an enemy is captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a shorter update again this week, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless!

“These files are...extensive,” Bruce says, brow furrowed as he hunches over Tim’s laptop. Tim is curled up under a pile of blankets in his room, watching as Bruce sits at the desk across from the foot of the bed and reads through Tim’s meticulous plans. “I’m fairly certain you have a contingency for taking down any member of the known hero community.”

“Thanks,” Tim says. “I started working on them on my sixteenth birthday; well,” he pauses, tapping a finger against his chin.  _ “Technically, _ it was the day after—once I bounced back from the nervous breakdown and all.” 

“What.”

Tim blinks, looking up at Bruce, only just realizing what he said. He immediately hides his face in his hands with a groan.

“Tell me I didn’t say that.” 

“Sorry bud, can’t do that. Mind explaining?” 

“Basically, Bruce and Alfred convinced me I’d be betrayed by someone in the family. It was just a test, but yeah, a terrible birthday present.” 

“I’m sorry they did that to you,” Bruce says gently. Tim sighs, rolling the tension from his shoulders. He doesn’t want to talk about this right now. He just wants to go through his contingency drives and start making plans. “What did you do for your seventeenth birthday?”

“I think I was in Berlin for that one,” Tim replies. “I don’t really remember.” He shrugs, brushing off the topic as casually as he can. “It isn’t a big deal, B.”

“You didn’t deserve to have your birthday ruined in the name of training. That was wrong of Bruce and Alfred, especially because it hurt you so much.” 

“I guess,” Tim says. “But it did inspire me to keep these plans at hand.” 

“You did a great job on them,” Bruce says, smile fond and a bit sad. “I just wish you didn’t feel like you need to be scared of the people you love turning on you.” 

“I’ve already lost almost everyone,” Tim reminds him. “I have Cass now, but you know how alone I was before I came here. It’s not an irrational fear if it’s actually happened.” 

“I still hate to hear how poorly your trust has been treated. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason, and Damian from your world all took your kindness and used it as a weapon against you. It’s honestly a wonder you never turned your back on them, Tim.”

“I think that’s what Ra’s was trying to do, before I got zapped here,” Tim admits in a hushed tone. He bites his lip, drawing the blanket closer to himself. “He was the only one willing to even hear me out. How messed up is that?”

“Very,” Bruce says with a decisive nod. “But you don’t have to worry about Ra’s. We’re going to keep you safe, and that is a promise, Tim. Besides, with these plans of yours, the League won’t stand a chance.” Tim smiles at that, bright and toothy, and Bruce leans back in his chair. “I do have a question for you, though.” Tim raises a brow, a silent request for Bruce to keep talking. “Can we do anything to celebrate a belated birthday for you?” Tim’s jaw drops open, and Bruce chuckles. “Think about it. Is there anything you want?”

“I, well...yeah, there’s one thing I can think of. Damian would really like it too. I mean, Alfred agreed to let him have one but not me, so I think he’ll probably also be okay with it?” 

“Tim,” Bruce interrupts, nudging Tim out from underneath his rambling. 

“I’ve always wanted a cat,” Tim says. “I found one on patrol once, a while back, but Alfred wouldn’t let me keep the kitten, so I gave her to Selina.” He frowns. “He let Damian keep a few pets, though. He really likes animals, so I guess it made sense? Like, appease the murder child or something. I don’t know. It never worked for me, but I guess it helped Alfred.”

“Hm.”

“It’s just an idea! I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything like that. I’d be happy with just a movie night, no presents, just hanging out for a little while with everyone.” 

“We can visit one of the nearby shelters when you’re feeling a bit better.” Bruce smiles, and Tim watches him with wide, surprised eyes. “I’m sure Alfred will be okay with you getting a pet.” 

“Thank you,” Tim says softly. 

“Of course. Since you’ve decided to stay with us—which, again, is something I’m very pleased about—we can start to give you something more permanent here.” 

“Oh.” Tim clears his throat, feeling his words dry up against the weight against his chest. He offers Bruce a grateful look, unable to summon the right way to thank him. 

Somehow, Bruce seems to understand. 

**

Dick gets a phone call and immediately moves down to the Cave to fetch his uniform. He passes Jason on the training mats with Cass, working to slowly rebuild his stamina, and offers them a distracted wave. When he comes back into the Cave proper a few minutes later, checking over his equipment before he leaves, he sees the two of them waiting for him, arms folded in twin stances. 

“Something happened,” Cass says without preamble. Dick nods, and Jason frowns. “Tell us?”

“I know where Hood is,” Dick replies, strapping his escrima sticks to his back.

“What? How?” Jason asks. His eyes narrow suspiciously, and Dick feels himself start to bend underneath the scrutiny. 

“I called in some help,” he admits, and Jason and Cass seem to come to the same conclusion at the same time. “It’s fine! Slade didn’t kill him or anything drastic like that. He’s just keeping him at a safehouse until I can bring him back here to one of the cells.” 

“You’re not going alone,” Jason says, stubbornness bleeding into his voice. Cass nods.

“I’ll go,” she says. “Jason, stay here and tell the others, please.”

Dick and Jason both acquiesce, and a few minutes later, Cass has changed into a nondescript uniform of her own, and the two of them make their way to one of the Batmobiles. Dick drives to the coordinates Slade sent him, and the ride over is quiet. He thinks Cass tends to be quiet regardless, but this seems like a comfortable silence, at least.

“Hood,” she says finally, startling Dick out of his thoughts. “He hurt Tim badly.”

“I think everyone in your family hurt him pretty badly,” Dick says ruefully. “Alternate-me sucks, from what I’ve heard.”

“He was what Tim needed,” she replies. “Not anymore. You are, though.”

Dick hesitates, surprised yet grateful for her apparent trust in him. He’s seen how fiercely Cass cares for Tim, and he hopes her faith in him isn’t misplaced. He wants to be the best for Tim, but he’s scared of making the same mistakes his alternate self has. Tim has already lost too much. He doesn’t want to be just another name on that list. 

“We’re here,” he says, fighting back his nerves. He’s not worried about dealing with Slade; no, that’s kind of normal at this point, but he doesn’t know how Hood is going to react, or how he’ll react to Hood.

They get out of the car and move to the balcony Slade has marked for them. Cass follows his lead for the moment, but Dick tells her he’ll refer to her when it comes to dealing with the version of Jason from her world. She nods, once, and follows him into the unassuming apartment. Slade is waiting for them there, mask off as he cleans his weapons on the couch.

“Hey kid,” Slade greets, not looking up. “We’re even now. Get the brat, and get the hell out.”

“Did he give you that much trouble?” Dick asks, smirking. He nods to Cass, who goes to the other room to bring Jason to the Batmobile waiting for them on the street. Slade glances up and glares, and Dick laughs. “I knew you’d be able to take him down, so don’t look so offended.” 

“He nearly got my other eye,” Slade grumbles. “Kid’s good. Be careful with him.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Dick asks. “He’s gunning for Red Robin, and if he’s told you anything, we could use the information.”

“Speaking of, where did you find that one?” Slade shakes his head, looking more amused than angry now. “His intel was organized by my usual system.” Dick snorts, completely unsurprised. “But no, Hood didn’t say anything about his plans. He seemed to figure out pretty quick that I was working for you, though.”

“Red’s an unusual case, but he’s a good kid. We’re hoping we can get Hood to back down without involving him any more than we have to.” 

“Not my problem,” Slade reminds him. “But good luck, I suppose.” Dick rolls his eyes but leaves the apartment with a wave. 

He slips back into the driver’s seat, glancing at Hood, bound and unconscious in the backseat. He exchanges a look with Cass, who seems more angry than anything else. When their eyes meet, he pats her arm, offering her a smile to ease her nerves. It seems to work, because she smiles back for a moment. Her expression grows more serious when the car starts up.

“We can’t let him near Tim,” she says. “Even just to talk.” 

“I heard some of what he said last time,” Dick says with a hum. “It didn’t sound pleasant.”

“Tim still values him,” Cass says with a huff. “Lets him into his head, stupid Little Brother.”

“We’ll keep him safe.”

“From himself?” Cass asks, and Dick wonders just how much of her question is rooted in the current conversation, or whether or not her fears run deeper than he knows. Either way, he doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t think she’s looking for empty platitudes right now, so he stays quiet. 

He pretends the silence is still comforting, rather than suffocating.


	14. The Red Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Cass have a bone to pick with the Red Hood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, 
> 
> So sorry for the impromptu hiatus! My final semester at my university has gotten very busy, but don't worry, I promise I haven't forgotten this story! I'm hoping I'll be able to stick to a more regular schedule moving forward, but updates might be a little more sporadic than I'd like.
> 
> Thank you for being patient with me! I hope you enjoy the chapter!

“He’s waking up,” Dick murmurs to Cass. She glances at him and nods, expression dark. Hood is in one of the interrogation rooms in the Cave, and Dick has been waiting with Cass for him to wake up for the better part of an hour. Bruce is upstairs with Tim, Jason, and Damian, tasked with keeping the kids away from the Cave—away from Hood. 

Hood stirs, only a slight movement, but it’s enough for a trained eye to spot. Dick breathes out, stuttered and nervous, and Cass rests a hand on his shoulder. Hood opens his eyes, poisonous, acid green, and Dick fights the urge to take a step back from the raw anger in his gaze. A bruise blooms on the right side of his jaw, and dried blood has colored the white streak in his hair. 

He looks so much like Jason, but five years and the blood on his hands has shaped him into someone completely foreign to Dick. This isn’t his brother. This won’t ever be who his brother becomes. Hood’s lips curl in a snarl, and Cass steps forward, folding her arms. 

“Red Hood,” she says, voice low and dangerous.

He grins, and it would be a charming expression on anyone else. There’s something too cold, too mean in his eyes to really be convincing. 

“I wasn’t expecting a family reunion when Deathstroke got the drop on me. What a surprise,” Hood says. He leans back in his chair, eyeing them with thinly veiled bloodlust. “That’s low for you, Dickie. Didn’t think you’d have it in you to sell your soul to the Devil himself.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Dick says slowly. “But I’m not the Dick Grayson you think you know.” He smiles, all charm and openness, but he lets a hint of darkness in—just enough to make a point. Hood’s grin drops into a sneer. He opens his mouth to retort, but Dick cuts him off before he can speak. “We’re not here to talk, Hood. We’re just here to make sure you don’t hurt anyone before we can send you back to whichever hole you crawled out from.”

“It was a grave, technically,” Hood replies. Dick fights the urge to physically recoil, and Cass rests a steadying hand on his arm. He breathes, anger and sick grief roiling in his stomach. He thinks the man wearing an older version of his brother’s face is more poltergeist than person. Violent, furious energy whips itself into a frenzy and leaves chaos in his wake.

This isn’t his little brother—the one upstairs right now, watching a movie with Tim, Damian, and Bruce. Dick can imagine them in the theater room, buried under a mountain of blankets as they toss popcorn at each other and make fun of whatever movie they’d picked. Jason is  _ alive. _ He’s Robin, burning bright and refusing to let himself succumb to Icarus’s fate. 

He supposes he’s looking at Icarus right now—charred feathers and seared skin, the boy who fell. 

“The only way I’m getting sent back is with a dead bird in tow,” Hood says easily. “Without the Circle’s tech, I’m stuck here.”

“You don’t seem too bothered by that,” Dick says, practically snarling. Hood shrugs, slipping back into a casual demeanor. He’s volatile, and even though Dick knew that already, it still catches him off guard. 

“Why would that bother me?” Hood tilts his head to one side, a familiar gesture. “I might be exactly where I want to be, Dickiebird.”

Dick is suddenly very glad they’d restrained Hood before tossing him in the cell. He wonders what that calculating gaze sees as it presses against his skin. He thinks Hood is probably thinking of ways to kill him, but Dick isn’t afraid of him.

He’s terrified for Tim, though. 

Dick thinks of those unnervingly pale blue eyes, dull with apathy as he explains all the ways Hood tried to kill him. The footage from the Cave had shaken him, rattled his bones with the kind of fear he feels at the sound of a snapping line, the promise of a freefall into oblivion. Cass’s fingers tap against his arm in a soothing rhythm, and Dick offers her a weak smile. His stomach still feels as though it’s been tied into knots, but he’s willing to accept the reassurance. 

“Stay away from Tim,” Cass says. Her voice is calm and steady—everything Dick isn’t feeling. 

“I’m the one locked up,” Hood says casually. He flashes his teeth, less of a smile and more of a threat. “Can’t help that, can I?”

“Tell us what you know about the Circle,” Dick orders. Hood rolls his eyes and mimes zipping his lips shut. Dick nearly stalks forward to punch him in the nose, but he keeps himself in check. He can’t afford to lose his temper, not when they need this lead. Cass only had so much information to offer, but if Hood knows any more, they need the intel. 

“Your days are numbered, Dickiebird,” Hood says with a singsong tone. Dick glares at him, but he doesn’t reply. He waits Hood out. “The Circle is preparing something absolutely beautiful, if I say so myself. I’m excited to have a front row seat to the show.” 

“Tim isn’t the only one in danger,” Cass reminds him. Dick nods, a tight motion. “We need to protect the family.”

“Good luck with that,” Hood snorts. “You’ll have your work cut out for you.” 

It’s not a threat. It sounds more like a promise. 

**

Tim carefully extricates himself from the pile of limbs he’s tangled in. Jason snores lightly against the couch cushions, and Bruce is asleep next to him with Damian curled up in his lap. Tim moves silently as he leaves the room. He’s careful to avoid Bruce’s study, but he can’t help the burning curiosity as he passes the door. He hopes Dick and Cass are okay. Knowing Hood, he’s probably giving them a hard time. 

The thought of Hood, his would-be murderer, locked down in the Batcave, sends a shiver down Tim’s spine. He doesn’t want to think about him or what he’s done. It’s overwhelming on the best of days, but facing the man directly wouldn’t end well. He’s barely holding himself together as it is. Tim knows his siblings are working on the interrogation, but Hood is a Bat. He knows their methods, and a cynical part of Tim wonders if he’ll have to step in to get a rise out of Hood. His emotions always tend to run hot when Tim is involved.

He breathes out a low sigh, exhausted but too anxious to sleep. He tries to focus on the present and not his own thoughts, but his mind keeps grabbing at his attention, dragging him back. Hood’s poisonous, acidic green eyes stare him down behind Tim’s eyelids, murderous intent stark. The sight of his own blood marking out words on the wall of what should’ve been his safe haven greets him, too, and he shoves that image aside only to be greeted by the memory of a knife at his throat, once in a cemetery, once just the other night—when he’d readily surrendered, offered himself up as a lamb for slaughter to keep this version of his family safe.

It hadn’t even been a question to him.

Somehow, he doesn’t think the others will appreciate that sort of thinking, but no one has mentioned it to him so far. Tim just hopes he can skirt around the issue until it’s forgotten, but he doubts he’ll be so lucky. He trails down the hall and over to one of the windows overlooking the sprawling manor grounds. It’s raining outside, droplets splattering against the window in a manner which Tim has always associated with grief. 

The clouds overhead are dark, and thunder rumbles in the distance, low and quiet. Tim stares out the window for a long moment, trying to wrangle his thoughts into something more productive than his own worst memories. He breathes, focusing on the feeling of air entering and leaving his lungs. His body still aches from Hood’s attack, so trying to keep himself grounded just leads him to cataloguing his injuries and recalling how exactly they got there. 

Tim shakes his head, frustrated with himself. He needs a distraction. He turns and heads toward the stairs, mind drifting to the kitchen as his feet wander. Maybe he’ll make some hot chocolate. He nearly stumbles when he reaches the staircase, but Tim catches his balance before he can fall. His injuries twinge painfully, but he remains steady. The thunder grumbles louder from outside as he makes his way down to the ground floor, and Tim wonders how long it’ll take for the storm to move over the manor. 

Rain lashes against the windows, picking up in intensity as he starts to make himself a cup of cocoa. Humming to himself, Tim meanders through the kitchen, only half-focused on his actions. Alfred’s recipe is an easy one, at least, and it’s always been the best hot chocolate he’s ever had. Tim hasn’t quite managed to make his as tasty, but the recipe itself does wonders. It’s better than the powdered hot chocolate mixes he used to make for himself on long, lonely nights in Drake Manor. 

Tim frowns at that thought, confused by the sudden turn in his mental track. He was dwelling on Hood, but now his brain has taken him to the empty house he lived in until he found a home. Well, he thought he’d had a home, but Tim supposes that was never really true. Until now, possibly. He’s still not sure whether or not he’ll let himself trust the promises made to him by this version of his family, but he’s willing to try. He’s never flown as Robin without taking a leap of faith, first, after all. 

Footsteps sound from behind him, and Tim turns to see Cass enter the kitchen. He smiles at her, and she must see some of the turmoil in his expression, because a moment later, her arms are wrapped around him in a hug. He feels more solid, more grounded in her arms. Tim rests his cheek against her shoulder, and from the corners of his eyes, he sees Dick enter the kitchen, jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed. The look on his face smooths out when he catches sight of Tim, but it’s enough to make him nervous. The interrogation must not have gone too well, then. 

“Shush,” Cass says. “Thinking too loud, Little Brother.”

“Is that hot chocolate?” Dick asks, distracting them both. Tim nods, face still smooshed against his sister’s shoulder, and Dick smiles. It’s strained, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Dick moves to the cupboard to get them mugs, and Tim stirs the hot chocolate in the pan, taking it off the heat to cool. They prepare their drinks and settle down at the breakfast nook together, shoulder-to-shoulder, with Tim squished between his two siblings. Tim rests his head against Dick’s shoulder, sighing as he takes a sip of his cocoa. It’s good, but it isn’t Alfred’s. 

“Getting better,” Cass comments after her first sip. “Didn’t burn it this time.”

“Thank you,” Tim says. He’s too tired to bicker right now. Cass nudges him with her elbow, gently, wary of his injuries. Tim grins, a little weighed down, but it seems to settle something in his sister’s eyes. She ruffles his hair.

Dick makes idle small talk for a few minutes, but with how distracted Tim is and Cass’s usual quiet nature, they lapse into silence shortly after. Dick is the first one to get up, wishing them a good night with a terse smile. He hugs them both, and Tim thinks his brother must’ve been rattled by whatever Hood said. 

Cass watches Dick leave before turning her dark eyes onto Tim. There’s something calculating there, and Tim knows better than to hide his intentions from her.

“Yes, I’m planning on talking to him.”

“Stupid of you,” she replies, frowning. Tim shrugs, feeling uncomfortable but knowing she’s got a point. 

“I think I have to face him, and besides, he’ll probably be more willing to let something slip to me. He’ll want to rattle me as much as he can.”

“Dangerous,” Cass insists.

“I know that,” Tim says with a sigh. He tilts his head up, displaying the red line stark against his pale skin. “Believe me, I know how dangerous he is. But I think it’ll help. That’s the least I can do, right?”

“You don’t need to be needed. Just be Tim.”

“Tim isn’t good enough to keep around,” he grumbles. Cass swats at his shoulder but he fixes her with a flat look. “It’s true. Isn’t that why I got practically kicked out of Gotham?”

“Stupid,” Cass says again. She sighs and brushes the hair out of his eyes. Her mouth twists into a sad smile. “Can’t stop you, though. Stubborn Little Brother.”

“Don’t worry,” Tim says. “It’ll be okay. He won’t hurt me.”

“Can’t promise that,” she replies, tapping a finger against his temple. She knows as well as he does how capable Hood is at twisting his own thoughts against him. She probably knows better than anyone just how capable Tim’s own mind is at doing the exact same. Compounded, the two of them can completely wreck his psyche until someone drags him back from underneath the waves. “I’ll help?”

“You always do,” Tim replies.

** 

Tim walks down the stairs to the Cave, still in his pajamas. His socks mask the sound of his footsteps, but he’s still cautious as he moves. He doesn’t want to make his presence known before he’s ready. He takes a slow breath, trying to quiet his racing mind and heart. 

The two-way glass at the interrogation room shows Hood, looking relaxed as he lounges in the chair provided for him. His shackled hands rest against the table in front of him, and as soon as Tim draws near, those bright green eyes snap to his face. He shouldn’t be able to see Tim, but somehow he does. His breath quickens.

“Hey there Replacement,” Hood greets. “Was wondering when you’d show up.”

Tim cringes but enters his passcode for the door, anyways. He walks into the room, watching Hood carefully as he moves to sit across from him. 

“Hello Jason,” he says coolly. He hopes the warble in his voice isn’t as pronounced as it feels in his throat. “I’ve always been too curious for my own good.”

“Always sticking your nose where it isn’t wanted, more like,” he replies. “Gonna try to convince me to give up all my secrets?” 

“No,” Tim says. Hood raises a brow, intrigued. “I’m here to tell you a few things. You get out of here, and our deal still stands, okay? No hurting the others. Am I clear?” Hood snorts and nods, and Tim relaxes, shoulders easing. 

“You’re a pathetic little martyr, aren’t you?” Hood asks, tone cutting.

“That’s not for you to decide,” Tim says. His fingers are trembling, but he maintains eye contact with the man who could’ve once been his brother. “Regardless, you’re getting sent back as soon as we can get our hands on the Circle’s tech. It won’t matter, after that.”

“You’re not going back,” Hood says with a low whistle. Tim nods, and he barks out a laugh. “Fucking pitiful, yeah? Couldn’t find a place back in your own world, so the little unwanted bird gets tossed out like garbage and goes crawling off to a whole new universe just to find the same people who screwed him over in the first one? You really should’ve just been my Robin, Replacement.”

“Maybe I would’ve, once,” Tim concedes. “You were my hero as a kid, Jason. But you’re not that person anymore, and I’ve had to accept that. I won’t let myself keep hoping you’ll change for the better when all you’ve done is try to hurt your family.”

“The rejection hit you hard, hm? Replacement gets replaced and all of a sudden thinks he can get through to me? Is that what this is?”

“No. I’m stating facts. I was never part of that family, and as much as I wish I could’ve been, I can’t deny it any longer. But that’s not the issue. You’re the issue, Jason.” 

“Always am.”

“I want you to tell me how to end this,” he presses. “Maybe we can make another deal.”

“Information for what, Replacement? The only thing I want is to see you bleed.”

“Maybe that, then.” Tim says. He struggles to get the words out, but they sound even to his own ears, at least. “My life for the others, but my blood for information. I think, based on our first deal and how we’ve valued my life, this is a pretty even trade.” 

“You’re full of surprises,” Hood spits. The venom in his tone sends a prickle of fear racing through Tim’s nerves, but he keeps his expression as stoic as he can manage. “You’d let me torture you for information?” He laughs. “It’s usually not a choice, but sure, I’ll take the deal.” 

“Lay out your terms first,” Tim says, eyes narrowing. 

“Thirty minutes, three questions,” Hood replies. Tim mulls it over but nods after a moment of consideration. “As a show of goodwill, I’ll let you have one question first.”

“You’ve never shown goodwill toward me Jason, and I doubt you’d start now,” Tim says. “What’s the catch?”

“Smart,” Hood coos. “I won’t kill you, sure, but if you want an up-front answer, you let me get close.”

“Fine.”

“Alright then, ask away,” Hood says, leaning back. 

“When is the Circle planning on attacking Gotham?” 

“Five days,” Hood replies. “Now, you gonna let me out, or do I have to break these cuffs myself?”

“Maybe some other time,” Tim says, standing. His heart slams against his ribcage as he watches Hood’s expression darken. “I’ll be keeping up my end of the bargain, but we never specified when you’d get those thirty minutes, Jason.” He turns to leave, the sound of Hood spitting curses at him following him out of the room. 

Tim leans back against the heavily fortified door, limbs weak. He slumps to the ground, placing his head in his hands. 

What has he gotten himself into? He takes a shuddering breath and tries not to think about it. If he does, he just might break. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a Rainbow Kitten Surprise song, in which the singer tells a story of someone who spent their whole life trying to be a good friend to others, but is always resented and left alone. I felt it was fitting to Tim's mindset during the Red Robin comics. 
> 
> Updates will come on Sundays, unless otherwise noted.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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